Roads Untraveled
by Celestial Clusters
Summary: AU. Eventual USxUK. Alfred F. Jones, retired soldier, abandons the busy and chaotic lifestyle of NYC in search of an opportunity to start anew and escape the memories of war. He easily finds peace in working for Arthur Kirkland, a florist with a kind, warm heart. But, well, perhaps he's getting in a bit deeper than he expected. Not everyone in this town likes him, after all.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello! See, I wasn't lying when I mentioned I'd be writing more Hetalia stuff, haha. But anyway! Yeah, so, I've had this idea circulating for quite a while, so here we are! I'm actually kinda nervous about this one, I hope it's interesting! Ah, jeez. But yeah, I hope to hear from you guys! Enjoy!

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><p>Rain fell harshly onto the streets of New York City. Outside, cars and buses and taxis beeped and roared with life. Voices of people echoed from the city streets. A vehicle was honking impatiently. Loud, booming thunder shook the walls of the small apartment. A flash of bright lightning temporarily illuminated the bedroom from behind the thin curtain.<p>

Alfred F. Jones rolled about restlessly in his bed.

He mumbled loudly in his sleep, his face contorting into something of pure terror and agony. Cast upon his back, he flipped over, a hand fisting deeply into his battered pillow. The set of dog tags clinked loudly about his neck at his movement. Wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, his exposed skin was clammy against the cold air of his bedroom. The sheets beneath him were drenched from his perspiration. He squirmed, kicking off the bedding, where it tumbled onto the floor in a big, messy heap.

Beside him, a figure stirred. A mop of blonde hair emerged from the depths of the cramped bed as the man lifted his head. His eyes were bleary in the darkness of the bedroom. He sleepily rubbed at one eye, keeping still as another flash of lightning lit up the space. In the sudden burst of light, he could see Alfred's face. It was scrunched, drenched in sweat, his eyebrows drawing inward, and his eyelids absently fluttering. His body was tense, hands tightly gripping the pillow, his enormous shoulders jerking and coiled up so tightly it looked as if the man was going to attack. Sighing, he leaned over and gently shook Alfred's well-sculpted shoulder.

"Alfred. Alfred, wake up."

_Ugly red liquid ran down his face and was staining his sleeve. He squinted one eye shut as blood leaked into his vision. His arm burned with a pain that felt utterly unreal, but was somehow slowly dissolving into numbness._

_Gunshots. The Humvee against his back rocked violently, the noise of explosions echoing too loudly in his ears. He pressed his head back desperately against the body of the vehicle, gritting his teeth. Smoke and rubble and dirt and dust were surrounding him, flooding into his eyes and down his throat, invading his lungs, and he was choking._

_He was crawling through sand. All around him was noise. Screaming vibrated through every fiber of his being, the sound of artillery and machinery sounding like angry storms. He passed by bodies, some with unresponsive eyes, and he kept moving, occasionally helping drag others toward the wall. Behind it, he finally sat up, using the structure to support his back as he clutched tightly at his arm._

"_Alfred?"_

_His eyes shot open. His head whipped to one side, staring at the body sitting next to him amidst the destruction and noise. He was met by a face that was stretched in the largest smile Alfred had seen in years, and it would've been perfect if it wasn't for the blood running over his lips._

_He scrambled onto his knees, yanking at his comrade's hands, exposing the jacket he had been clutching to so tightly. His palms were red, his jacket was red, his lips stained the same ugly color._

"_No, no you can't…"_

"_It's okay." He was smiling. Tears were suddenly leaking out of his eyes. He rested his helmet-clad head against the wall behind them. He was taking too long to breathe. His chest trembled for a moment and then stilled, as if holding his breath. It slowly expanded as a labored breath left his lungs. His body felt cold in Alfred's tightly coiled arms. His lips were pale. "It's okay, Alfred."_

_A hand grabbed him by his jacket as he screamed. Tears fell violently from his eyes as the hand tugged on his jacket harder. He lifted his head, gaze filling with the man hovering above him. Tears ran down Alfred's face as he rambled pathetically, nearly in hysterics. He had seen people die, but it was never his friends, and—_

With a loud crack of thunder, Alfred shot awake in his bed.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he laid there, not daring to move. His body was covered in the sleekness of a cold sweat, and hot tears misted in his eyes. The walls of the apartment shook against the storm. His heart pounded violently in his chest and Alfred's built frame trembled against his will as the anxiety attack slowly grew worse.

He jumped violently as a hand, warm and soft, settled upon his exposed shoulder.

For a moment, his brain remained a million miles away as he stared ahead lifelessly, his eyes wide and distant. He slowly seemed to sink back into earth, body heaving as he remained sprawled out on his stomach. As he returned from the bombardment of destruction plaguing his mind, his eyes came back into focus, staring ahead motionlessly and taking in the sight of the face before him. A pair of tired, worried eyes stared back at him, flashes of lightning temporarily illuminating the body.

"Al? You okay?" The man beside him asked softly. The soft hand gently rubbed at his upper back. Unintentionally, and out of pure reflex, Alfred recoiled against the touch. He was still violently shaking as he squirmed to the side of the mattress closest to him, before swinging his legs over the edge. He sat there for a moment, breathing heavily as beads of sweat rolled down his face. He heard a small sigh come from the other form lying in the bed as he clambered off the mattress and onto his own two feet. He grabbed at the bed sheets he had accidentally knocked away and onto the floor, and quickly draped them across the mattress, covering up the figure in the process. "Alfred…"

Without a word, he retreated from the bedroom, roughly slamming the door behind him.

From the bed, the man sighed and snuggled down into the bedding. This had been happening for so long now it was almost routine. He sleepily eyeballed his alarm clock sitting on the side table and proceeded to bury himself deeper into his bed. Just after four A.M. The usual.

There was no point in chasing after Alfred when he was like this. It wasn't like he would receive any answers, or anything more than a simple, empty stare.

It was something Alfred always kept to himself.

In the meantime, Alfred had locked himself in the bathroom. After studying his reflection in the mirror, taking in his pallid, clammy face and dark circles, he turned on the sink and began to splash the cold water onto his skin. The liquid felt like ice against his face, and Alfred breathed heavily as it ran down the contours of his skin as it dripped into the sink. He did this for a few minutes before he dried himself off and again looked at himself in the mirror.

The color had to returned to his cheeks, but he still looked rather pale. The dark circles under his eyes were extraordinarily prominent now. The bright blue of his eyes seemed strangely dim. His hair was a mess, wild and swept into his eyes, and his jawline was dark due to an obvious sum of facial hair he hadn't bothered to shave off. His flesh was still slick from sweat, limbs still slightly shaking, his thick chest heaving.

He never used to be like this. Who the hell was this stranger staring back at him?

After brushing his teeth he wandered into the darkness of the tiny living room. Rain loudly pounded against the single window, lightning flashing brightly from behind a thin gray curtain. Alfred shuffled, barefoot, across the room and sank into the couch, absently switching on the old, battered television. The electronic splashed him in a blue light as he resided in darkness. The sound of the weather channel was like simple white noise in his ears. Alfred sighed as he buried his face into his hands, unable to help but simply think.

Six months. It had been six long months so far and he was not making any progress. If anything, he only seemed to be getting worse. He was sleeping less and less, and was having panic attacks more and more. It was like he descending deeper and deeper into an unseen hell.

When he had gotten out of the service six months ago, he began to live here in New York City with his twin brother, Matthew. And Alfred was grateful, of course he was. After all, his brother was opening the door to his extremely tiny apartment to Alfred out of the kindness of his heart. Matthew was giving him shelter and food and necessities while asking for so very little in return. Most nights Matthew shared the only bed in the house with him. The couch was much too small for Alfred to lie out on, and the back pain he constantly suffered through wouldn't agree with him if he did decide to crash there.

But he did harbor guilt about it. His episodes like this one were constant, and usually woke Matthew up in the middle of the night. It was bad enough to through it, but to know he was the cause of Matthew's constant awakening and daytime exhaustion, well, it made him feel more than just a little guilty.

Did he have a problem? Probably, but he didn't want to admit it. The reoccurring dreams – nightmares, rather – were only the tip of the iceberg. He had plenty of other issues, not all of which were so obvious. The triggers had to be the worst. The list of them was long and no matter where he went in this stupid city he couldn't get away from them. Some days he could power through it with only his hands shaking, and nothing more. And then other days a simple noise made it all come rushing back and left him breathless and sweating and trembling as a victim of a severe panic attack.

The amount of triggers was unbearable. It used to only be war-related noises that set him off, like the sound of gunshots or explosions, even fictional ones in video games. But now, anything loud was making him dissolve into this mess. Things like storms, the roar of airplanes, construction projects, the sound of machinery coming to life, and anything loud or sudden was starting to startle him. It was taking over his life and he knew it.

He could never fall back asleep after these episodes happened. He just sat there on the couch for what felt like forever, sitting in total darkness except for the blue glow of the television soaking into his skin. He didn't realize how deep in thought he was until something soft wrapped around him. He jumped, snapping out of his thoughts as he lifted his head, finding his twin draping a thick blanket over his shoulders. Alfred's hands absently clung to the hem, his gaze falling. He could feel Matthew staring at him. Suddenly, a hand combed gingerly through his messy blonde hair. Matthew didn't speak. After the simplistic touch, he simply vanished into the small kitchen. Alfred remained motionless underneath the heavy blanket, just listening, hearing the rattling of pans and the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing multiple times. He dissolved back into his thoughts almost instantly, trying to wipe out the nightmare from his mind, but it was something he still struggled to do.

He sat there for a while, basking in silence, broken only by the mumbles of the old television. A rumble of thunder sounded outside of the window. The blue light soaked into his skin, and Alfred vaguely felt his throat constricting. Moisture swelled against the curves of his eyes, welling up against his own desires, threatening to spill. For a second he was choking silently, eyelids clenching down tightly, eyelashes dampening. He buried his face deeply into his sweaty palms and breathed loudly, deeply, struggling to hold back the wave as explosions rocked inside his eardrums and screams filled his brain.

You just couldn't escape from it.

After a while his brother emerged from the adjoined kitchen. Alfred had not heard him, too wrapped up in his own mind for that. But Matthew's hand, warm and soft, wrapped about his shoulder and gave him a tiny shake, jolting him abruptly from the dark waters swarming around in his brain. Matthew was, again, speechless, simply handing him a plate and a fork before vanishing into the other room once more.

Matthew usually cooked him breakfast. Even if Alfred didn't ask, his brother still did it for him, every single morning. And honestly, Alfred felt guilty for it. He stressed his sibling out immensely and he knew Matthew cooked him breakfast because Alfred had a nasty habit of not eating enough during the day regardless. Sometimes he didn't have the appetite, and sometimes he just completely forgot. But he wasn't taking care of himself properly, and he knew it, but fixing it was easier said than done.

So, once more, on a Tuesday morning, Matthew cooked him breakfast. He prepared him eggs and bacon and toast and a cup of rich coffee and very vaguely, Alfred knew it was something he loved a lot. Food was always something he loved. But it just didn't taste the same. Everything these days tasted so bland, as if he was cramming sand down his throat. Maybe that was why he didn't really care to eat that much anymore. There wasn't much enjoyment in it when everything tasted like cardboard.

Matthew joined him on the battered couch, squeezing himself in between Alfred and the ripped arm of the piece of furniture. They ate in silence for a moment, sitting in the off-blue glow of the television set, just mindlessly focused in on the babbling of the reporter. And then, out of absolutely nowhere, Matthew spoke.

"Did you want to talk about it?"

Alfred visibly stiffened as he sat there on one ugly cushion, large, scarred hands tightening about his silverware. He purposely kept his eyes gridlocked onto his plate.

"No," he answered, voice crackling against his own control as the urge to cry suddenly welled back up inside of him. But he wouldn't dare let it overcome him. He wouldn't allow himself to cry about it. There was no point. Crying wouldn't turn back time or bring anyone back or anything else. "I don't."

Six months later and he still had yet to tell his twin about what had happened to him overseas. He hadn't even been willing to tell why Matthew why he was out of the service now, either, but there wasn't really too much running around that one. Matthew had refused to let him stay until he provided at least _some _answers, and so Alfred had rolled up his sleeve and showed him the enormous scar on his bicep. But besides that, no, he hadn't breathed about what had happened. He didn't dare talk about the ambush, about losing his comrades – his family – or anything else. He was sure Matthew did know some of the details from Gilbert; the guy practically never stopped talking these days. But how much the guy had told him, well, Alfred didn't know.

Gilbert. Alfred's eyes drifted to the screen of the television, checking the time that was posted in the bottom right corner. A bit past seven, now. Matthew would be leaving for work in less than fifteen minutes, and then Gilbert would be here at eight. It was Tuesday, after all, and this was how Tuesdays went.

He hadn't really noticed that Matthew had been talking to him this entire time. He zoned back in very slowly, lazily almost, but that wasn't the intent. Things were hard these days, and that was all there was to it. Sleeping was hard, talking was hard, paying attention was hard, living was hard.

"I just worry about you," he heard Matthew say. "You never tell me anything so I'm not even really sure of how to help you. I _do _want to help, Al, you know that… But I can't… I can't help you unless you _let _me."

"I know." Alfred took some coffee into his mouth. It was too hot but he swallowed it down anyway, barely reacting to the burning sensation that went down his chest. "I… Sorry."

"Alfred…" Matthew started, and the man took a second to look his twin in the eyes. Matthew did have really nice eyes. They looked almost lavender, and held a bright, loving warmth in them. Alfred didn't have that warm glow in his eyes anymore, after all; he was a bit jealous of it. But even so, he could never look Matthew directly into the eye for too long these days. He hated seeing that pathetic, sad glow, he hated seeing the worry, he hated seeing the pain. Those emotions were his fault. _Completely. _He hated it, _hated _it. So as fast as possible, his eyes instantly darted back down to his still nearly-full plate. "You know I don't like seeing you like this."

Before Alfred could formulate a proper reply, Matthew abruptly stood up, plate in hand.

So Alfred let him. He sat there motionless and silent as Matthew abandoned his empty plate in the kitchen sink and hurried into his room, finishing the process of getting dressed. And Alfred let him leave, hurrying out the front door of the apartment in a scramble, no words spoken between them. Alfred's mouth burned with silent speeches, with things he wanted to say, with emotions he wanted to tell, but he couldn't. he just couldn't. And all he could do was feel the guilt.

He sat there for a while before he slowly got up from the couch, feeling like it too every ounce of energy to do so. He finished getting dressed himself before he wandered back into the kitchen. He wound up dumping his plate out into the trash and started to wash the dishes. He didn't do much else these days, so helping Matthew with chores was the least he could do. And while he stood there, noticing that the rain had stopped, his brain swirled violently and his eyes burned and his mouth itched and he wanted to scream.

But of course, nothing came out.

He knew he was a bit of a burden on his brother, whether or not Matthew would admit to that. Matthew was basically supporting him completely at the moment and was letting Alfred take shelter in this tiny, tiny nest of his. And his behavior bothered Matthew. Alfred knew it did. He had changed drastically since he first joined the army years ago, and now, it was like he was a stranger. Matthew had said it once by mistake, but Alfred didn't even bother to argue, because it was _true._

He was starting to fray, really, and it was destroying Matthew to watch it. It killed Matthew on the inside to watch him suffer like this without reaching out for help. He was drowning, gurgling underneath some brackish liquid that poured into his lungs, and it was getting harder and harder to keep his head above the surface. Matthew had offered a hand to him many times to try to pull him out, but it was as if Alfred just couldn't reach it, no matter how hard he tried. So he just let himself drown.

Besides not discussing what had happened, there were plenty of other signals that were making his brother worry, too. The constant nightmares, the lack of sleep, the lack of appetite and energy and lack of _life _in his bones… All while not speaking to a single soul about it. And it killed his brother inside to watch him go through this without being able to do a single thing, simply because Alfred would not let him. He needed to get out of here before he only made things worse.

Making his brother suffer like this was one of the worst things he had probably ever done.

The sudden sound of pounding on the front door jostled him from his thoughts, and he jumped for a second, dropping the sponge into the bottom of the sink. Fumbling around for a second, Alfred dried his hands on a dishtowel before making his way across the tiny apartment, doing his best to ignore the loud, repetitive knocks coming from the outside that made his head pound.

He yanked it open, not at all surprised to find Gilbert standing outside, dressed in a wet, navy blue raincoat. His snowy hair was a mess underneath the hood, and his smile was enough to blind Alfred, teeth sparkling. And then, suddenly, a cup was being thrust in his direction.

"Morning! I brought you something." Gilbert was still grinning at him. Alfred's lips twitched for a second as if he was trying to smile back, but it quickly dissipated. He reached out slowly and took the warm, white container into one hand. He then inched to one side, allowing the man entrance into the tiny, battered apartment.

"Gilbert, I told you, you don't need to keep buying these for me," Alfred muttered, closing the door. He found himself sipping at it anyway. It had a hint of vanilla to it. But either way, Gilbert buying him a coffee every single Tuesday morning seemed almost excessive.

"Nah, it's fine." Gilbert let out a bit of a laugh, tucking his hands into his pockets. His skin was ghostly white, and he looked nearly sickly with that tone being combined with his hair color. There was a bit of a pink twinge in his cheeks and knuckles, but besides that, there wasn't much tone to him at all. Alfred surveyed him quietly from underneath blonde lashes, noticing that his friend's body seemed thinner underneath his coat. Great. It's not like the guy was scrawny enough as it was. "So? You ready?"

Oh, right. Tuesday. Tuesday was physical therapy day.

"Uh… Yeah, yeah one second… Let me find a jacket," Alfred murmured, setting down the cup of coffee on the nearest countertop as he began rummaging around in the pathetically small closet in the hallway. He absently rubbed at his left arm. The numbness was pretty bad today. It probably wouldn't be very long before his fingers stopped working again. Great. That was just what he needed.

Sighing rather loudly through his nose, he finally managed to grab onto a jacket and wrangle it out, before kicking the door closed. He wandered back into the entranceway and had managed to slip into the coat, but his fingers had started to fail him now and he couldn't zip the stupid thing. He couldn't even get a proper grip on the zipper. His fingers just wouldn't work no matter how hard he tried.

"Here, I got it," Gilbert interrupted, reaching out and aiding the blonde in zipping up his jacket. The smile was gone from his face now and Alfred was silent for a moment, studying his friend's face, taking in his tired eyes and ghostly pale skin. It was amazing, really, that they were so much alike, and yet, they were so very different. Two very different types of shells, two very different types of ghosts. "How's that?"

"Fine, thank you." Alfred picked the coffee cup back up and snatched up his keys from the nearby rack before ushering his friend outside. He had tried to lock up the apartment, but could no longer get a good grip on his keys, and after he dropped them for the third time, Gilbert simply locked the door for him before giving him the keys back.

Some days his body just refused to cooperate, and today seemed like it was going to be one of those days.

When he was overseas in his last tour, he somehow ended up with a bullet going through his arm that same day everything went to hell. He hadn't noticed it at first until it suddenly felt like he was being lit on fire, like his arm was suddenly burning. By some miracle it hadn't hit any main arteries, or bone. He still didn't understand it. However, it tore through a lot of muscle and a lot of his nerves were destroyed.

Six months of physical therapy later and he finally had the muscle strength to lift household objects properly again. Lifting a gallon of milk in that hand was no longer a life ending task. Despite gaining some strength back, he still struggled a lot with the nerve damage. A lot of the time his upper arm was numb, and sometimes, on the bad days, the trouble spread down his forearm and into his fingers. Sometimes they became numb too, or sometimes he felt terrible phantom pains. Sometimes his fingers didn't want to work and he couldn't even hold a pencil. And that was, more often than not, extremely embarrassing, especially when he was out in public and the problem struck him. The last time he had gone to buy coffee he wound up dropping the cup and spilling it all over the floor. He had lost count of how many times he had dropped things in stores – food, glass, and countless other things – or how many incidents had occurred where he had tried to move his arm and it was suddenly frozen with temporary paralysis, and he couldn't feel a single thing. That probably had to be the worst, especially when he had been trying to get change back from a cashier or hail a cab…or trying to do _anything_, honestly.

It was something he was probably going to struggle with forever if his instincts were correct.

But, well, he was probably the luckiest one that had gotten out alive. His eyes strayed over to Gilbert, silently observing his enormous smile and the way his eyes sparkled when he blabbed, even with how tired he looked. He suffered from sleepless nights, too, Alfred knew. But it seemed like even after everything, Gilbert was still a ball of compressed sunshine. He had been like that ever since they met, really, and the trend had yet to die down. If anything, ever since the war days, Gilbert's cheery demeanor had only gotten more intense. Alfred vaguely wondered if it was his way of coping, like how, well… Like how his demeanor had only grown darker and darker over the years.

Gilbert. Alfred sighed a bit as he moved alongside his friend on one of the busy sidewalks. He was a great guy. They had met in basic training, back when things were good and they were different people, back when they both were healthy and had life bursting out of their seams, back when they didn't have problems. Even after the ambush, even after their injuries, even after everything that happened, their bond had only seemed to have grown stronger. They were best friends, comrades, and if Alfred thought about it hard enough, Gilbert was probably like a brother to him. The man had helped him through a lot of shit, after all. He'd go down tooth and nail trying to keep him safe, and he knew Gilbert would do the same for him. He had already proved it, after all.

Gilbert couldn't walk very quickly. He hobbled a lot too and on a bad day like this one, with the sidewalks being wet, it slowed him down immensely. He slipped so badly sometimes he would have to cling to Alfred's thick arm to keep himself up on his own legs. Six months later and he was still struggling to get used to his prosthetic.

"Alfred, are you listening?"

"Huh? Oh, um." Alfred stammered for a second, struggling to piece words together to formulate a proper sentence. Gilbert's head swiveled to look at him as he clung absently to Alfred's left arm, lips forming in a prominent pout. "Sorry."

"Too rude," he drawled out in reply, overdramatically draping his free arm over his forehead. His other one remained coiled tightly about Alfred's, using him for support. He then dropped the bravado, letting his eyes focus in on his slightly taller friend's face. Alfred's eyes looked disgustingly void, his face practically hollowed out and exhausted. "Seriously though, you've been doing that a lot lately. You feelin' alright? What's on your mind?"

The large muscle in Alfred's arm suddenly tightened underneath Gilbert's touch, and the pale man frowned deeply as he watched Alfred's eyes lock firmly onto the ground.

"Did you have that dream again?" Gilbert pressed, thin eyebrows knitting together. At Alfred's silence, he sighed, shaking his head. "Alfred, you really need to start talking to someone about these things. It's not healthy to bottle it up, you know that."

He and Gilbert never talked about that day. It opened up too many bad memories. It brought back times of death and destruction and war and chaos and neither of them really _wanted _to remember it.

"I… I mean, Matthew has been asking about it a lot…" Alfred started lamely, struggling to properly form a sentence. Talking about anything seemed hard these days. He had grown so grossly reclusive over the months. "I just…"

"Yeah. I know what you mean," Gilbert finished as he released his grip on Alfred's arm. "Alfred, look. You need to try to talk to someone about this. Anyone. I know it's a touchy topic between me and you but if you want or _need _to talk about it, you know I'll listen. You mentioned Matthew has been bugging you to spill it, so just try to, ya know, _spill _it. It's hard, I know it is. It took me forever to tell Ludwig, but you have to _try."_

Neither of them really had a place to go after the war. And neither of them could really survive on their own when it first happened. Alfred wound up crashing with Matthew, and Gilbert took refuge in his younger brother Ludwig's apartment across town. Their siblings served as a mental and emotional crutch for a while. But, well, for Gilbert, his return home meant surgery, and he had needed to extra support for that, too.

Their recoveries had been different, though. Gilbert had been making tons of progress in only a few weeks than Alfred had made in six months. The man was more emotionally stable and levelheaded and just generally seemed less stressed than Alfred did. He had his problems, surely, like the insomnia they both suffered from, but Gilbert overall seemed to be in pretty good shape. But then again, he had been accepting of help. He had been going to a psychiatrist for a while and his little brother let him cry on his shoulder quite a bit when they first came home.

Alfred had been pushing help far away ever since they set foot back onto American soil.

He was silent for a long moment, the two of them caught in an ocean of other human beings, bodies just flooding around either side of them on the sidewalk as they simply stood there. It was making him grossly anxious, but he was trying to ignore it, instead just focusing in on the face of his friend. Even though Gilbert was smaller, and just a bit shorter, he exuded a confidence that Alfred was actually a bit jealous of. He walked with his head held high and his shoulders pushed backwards, and even with their physical differences, it often felt like Gilbert was bigger than Alfred was. But, well, it probably shouldn't have been that surprising. Gilbert had been a higher rank than him in the army either way; confidence was just a part of who he was. His years exceeded Alfred's as well; the experience of life had thickened his skin.

"I want you to promise me that you're going to try to talk to someone. I don't care who it is, I want you to tell _someone._" Gilbert sighed, shaking his head as he took Alfred by the arm and began to walk again. His eyes were straight ahead, not daring to look Alfred in the face as he mumbled. "I've lost enough people in this life so far; I don't need to lose you too."

"Sorry." Alfred's apology was instantaneous and almost empty. It wasn't real, and the words seemed rehearsed. Gilbert didn't react, though, his face serious now as he stared straight ahead. "I… I'll try."

"I said _promise, _but I guess that's good enough for now." Gilbert's head moved again as he shook it slightly. "You know I worry about you. Matthew does too. Both of us."

Alfred didn't speak. He suddenly felt very tired. Even getting on this topic seemed to suck the life right out of his bones now and he really hated it.

"You know what I think would be good for you, kid?" Gilbert asked him suddenly, and Alfred barely even blinked at his voice. "I think you need to get out of here for a while. Change of pace. Go somewhere quiet and less busy. I think all this movement and noise is only being detrimental. How do you expect to get better when you can't even concentrate with all this garbage going on around you?"

Alfred was barely even paying attention anymore, too focused on where he was going and the mess of bodies constantly bumping into him. It was more of just to humor Gilbert at this point. The guy loved to talk. And honestly, if he thought he was helping, who was Alfred to disagree?

"Ludwig and I are planning on going to visit some old friends in, like, a month or two though if you wanted to come? It'll only be for two weeks or so I think, but at least you'll get a break from…from all this," he finished, motioning to the world about them. His eyes flicked to Alfred's face and he grinned suddenly. "I think it'll be good for you."

Alfred just let out a grunt in reply. Gilbert paused for a second, looking extremely hopeful for an answer, but he never received one. Time to call it quits for now. With a sigh, he rolled his eyes skyward and back around in a complete circle, shaking his head in the process.

Stupid kid was too damn stubborn for his own good.

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><p>Chapter 1: End<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey! Sorry for the delay, I've been having some other things going on I had to take care of, but here we go! Back on track now, hopefully. But yeah! Thank you for all the support and reviews and such I received on the first chapter, I'm really happy to hear you guys are liking it so far! Enjoy!

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><p>The military lifestyle ran in the family. Ever since he was a kid, Alfred had blabbed about wanting to be a soldier. And when he turned eighteen, with bright eyes and a loud mouth, he joined the army. Even before that day came, he talked about it nonstop. And why not? After all, his father had been a soldier, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, and—<p>

"_Just wait! I'll come back a hero, too!"_

And then, during basic training, he met Gilbert Beilschmidt. The guy was twenty-one at the time, with a mouth just as loud as Alfred's, but a brain more developed and feet more firmly planted onto the ground. He didn't have his head up in the clouds, and it was rather often that he yanked on Alfred's ankles to drag him back down to earth.

"_War isn't what it's all cracked up to be," Gilbert had said simply, his loud and borderline arrogant demeanor fizzling out of him as he sat there, shining his boots. His eyes, colored a striking red that clashed violently against his snowy hair and pale skin, rolled up to look Alfred in the face. "You're a kid. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."_

And honestly, Gilbert probably hadn't been more correct about anything in his life.

They wound up in the same division, the same team, becoming comrades and family and the best of friends all at once. Their tours together dragged on and on, and times of war slowly changed them both. Gilbert began leaning more and more on that loud, confident of his, always talking, laughing, smiling. Surely digging further into that façade was his coping method.

But for Alfred, it was the opposite, really. War changed him in other ways. He became more and more serious over the years, happiness and laughter seeming to evaporate out of his bones, leaving behind a shell. He became cold, distant, quiet, and by their third tour, he finally realized how correct Gilbert had been from the beginning.

He had never gone through something so difficult in his entire life. Even if the nightmare of the ambush did not plague his dreams, he couldn't escape the rest of it all. Everything was connected, spun in a giant web that he was tangled within. The littlest of triggers hid around every single corner. Even if he dodged the replay of that single event, the rest of the memories collapsed around him like dominos. And really, seeing ghosts of dead bodies and having groans in his ears were just as bad.

What was even worse was when it randomly hit you while you were awake, just minding your own business in a public place, and then your world was suddenly crashing down upon you.

He snapped out of his daydream as something cool and damp suddenly rubbed against his hand.

Jumping in his chair, Alfred instantly scooted himself backwards to look underneath the table. He then relaxed a bit as he found two bright brown eyes staring back at him. Gilbert and Ludwig owned a few dogs, and for whatever reason, the German shepherd – an absolutely beautiful one, no less – always took a keen interest in him whenever he was over to visit.

Another bump of the nose against his hand caused him to cave, proceeding to scratch the dog behind the ears before it curled up obediently at Alfred's feet.

His eyes roamed to Gilbert, who was standing near the kitchen counter, absently flipping over a grilled cheese sandwich inside a skillet. His back was to Alfred at the moment as he cooked, standing in there in what he often referred to as his 'chill clothes'. It was nothing more than a navy blue tank top and a pair of black shorts, both of which Alfred knew he felt more comfortable moving around in. Despite Gilbert's enormous amount of confidence thrumming in his veins, he didn't seem to have it in him to wear clothes like that in public these days. And really, Alfred could understand why.

His eyes fell slightly, absorbing the sight of the man's body. Gilbert had dropped an obvious amount of weight since they had gotten out of the service. His arms and back were still visibly firm with muscle, but the rest of him didn't seem so thick anymore, thinning out underneath his clothes.

His eyes absently trailed over the ocean of scars running along Gilbert's skin, colored a silvery white that somehow seemed so painfully obvious on his pale flesh. They covered the expanse of his back, webbing out from underneath his shirt, marks staining his powerful shoulders and arms, even biting down into the back of his hands. That was the reason he didn't dress like this in public anymore. That, and, well… Alfred's eyes absently lowered a bit further, stealing a glance at his friend's leg, taking in just how little of his limb was left, and of how much was equipment, with sockets and fake knee joints and—

"So, what's the plan here?" Gilbert suddenly asked, and Alfred quickly wrenched his eyes away to look at the man's face. With a bit of difficulty, Gilbert began moving the food to the table, hobbling as he went. In an instant, Alfred practically leapt out of his chair to help, not really wanting a repeat of what had happened last time. Gilbert mumbled to him in thanks before he collapsed gratefully into a chair. He cast a temporary glance at Alfred before he started putting a few sandwiches onto his plate to accompany the soup he had made. "You comin' with us or not?"

Alfred was quiet for a moment, seeming to be trying to think of what to say. He mutely grabbed a single grilled cheese, not really wanting to get another lecture from his friend about not eating enough. Then again, Gilbert didn't really have room to talk. During the first few weeks since they made it home, the guy practically had to be force-fed. Nowadays his appetite had come back with a vengeance. Back in the day, the two of them, after surviving on nothing but military meals, could stomach a gross amount of food whenever they got the chance. These days it was only Gilbert falling back into old habits.

"_One thing you should probably know about me, kid, is that I have three simple hobbies: sleeping, eating, and fighting. That's about it."_

"I… I'm not sure," Alfred started hesitantly, watching one of Gilbert's thin, snowy eyebrows arch heavenward in a puzzled manner. "I just…"

"You're just being indecisive and making excuses," Gilbert interrupted, rolling his eyes as he sank down a bit further into his seat. "Come on! You have literally nothing to lose, and like I said, I really think you need to get out here for a while."

"No, I don't—"

"Alfred, don't even try it. I'm not stupid, and either way, lying has never been your strong suit." Gilbert's face darkened slightly, rare anger evident in his eyes. He motioned to the blonde with one well-defined hand. "Look at you. I'm worried, Matthew's worried, Ludwig's worried. You won't eat, you haven't been sleeping, you're getting these trances and flashbacks _constantly_, and some guy bumping into you in the office nearly gave you an anxiety attack."

"I…" Alfred faltered for a moment, struggling to formulate an argument through his loss of words. It was true, of course it was; how was he supposed to argue with the truth? "I just…"

"Listen to me, Alfred. It doesn't make you any less of a person to need help. You do realize that, right?" Gilbert's voice was a bit quieter, facial features softening slightly. "You've gotta let someone help you. Anyone. And if this hurts your feelings, then fine, I apologize, but you _need _help. You're getting worse, you and I both know that, and the last thing I want to see is for you to become so far gone that no one can reach you anymore."

Not surprisingly, silence was the only reply he received.

"Come with us," Gilbert pressed, words almost sounding like an order. After cramming the last chunk of a grilled cheese into his mouth he sank back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you're not going to see a professional, then I want you to at least take _one _step here and give your brain a much-needed break."

Alfred hesitated for a moment, taking a rather large bite of his sandwich in order to stall for time. It suddenly felt like everything was moving too fast, and he didn't like it. He just couldn't keep up. He chewed absently, the food tasting stale on his tongue, and his stomach twisted into a painful knot. He could feel Gilbert staring at him, expecting any type of response. Finally, after a moment, his blue eyes rolled up to meet Gilbert's red ones.

"…Okay."

Gilbert's smile was blinding.

* * *

><p>The next month repeated like clockwork. There were no changes and nothing new. The nights were either sleepless, or having memories drop into his mind like bombs, startling him awake. The days were simple repeats of one another. Cleaning up the apartment for Matthew, running errands, going to his physical therapy appointments, and hanging out with Gilbert.<p>

It was, literally, nothing new. His life was merely some background track stuck on repeat.

Not even a week before he was set to leave, he caved and told Matthew about his plans. He would have to inform him regardless, at some point; it wasn't like he could just vanish from the apartment for a few weeks without a word. He would probably give the guy a heart attack if he pulled a stunt like that.

He was honestly a bit surprised to see Matthew smile when he told him the news over dinner one night. His twin didn't really smile too much anymore; the stresses of his life usually held him down, and Alfred's lifestyle surely kept him fretting as well. But, regardless, Matthew's face warmed in a small smile, and his eyes seemed to glimmer behind his round glasses.

"I'm glad you're deciding to go, Alfred," Matthew said gently, running a hand down the man's broad back. Alfred stiffened slightly as he stood there, elbow deep in the kitchen sink as he scrubbed down dirty plates. His head swiveled around to stare his brother in the face. Something twisted in his heart as he studied the relief and happiness invading Matthew's facial features. He felt sick. The guy was so desperate to help and to see him normal again that any potential path to him healing had the ability to make his entire being light up. "I'm really happy for you. I think it'll be good for you."

As a thank you gesture, or at least that's what Alfred assumed, Matthew invited Gilbert and Ludwig over for dinner three days before their trip. They spent most of the evening talking about plans; Gilbert did most of the rambling, not surprisingly. Alfred was interested, he wanted to hear what he was getting into and what was going on, but he found focusing to be nearly impossible. His brain kept wandering. Gilbert's voice sounded a million miles away despite the fact that the man was sitting right beside him, his words a jumbled mess that Alfred just couldn't understand. A simple three bites of his brother's pancakes made him nauseated, and he spent most of the meal just poking at his dinner with the tip of a silver fork. He failed to realize how much time he was spending wrapped up in his own mind until borderline shouts of his name snapped him out of it, and he found three sets of eyes staring worriedly back at him when he finally touched his feet back onto earth.

Embarrassment ran thickly through his veins, making a disgusting cocktail as it mixed with the anxiety and the sadness and the anger, and he, for a moment, felt like he was going to be sick. But even as he swallowed down the sensation, he couldn't shake the aches and uneasiness in his bones. And it was as he sat there, struggling to pay attention as Matthew and Ludwig talked about their jobs that he felt himself hit his limit. He proceeded to rise from the table in a rapid, clumsy stumble, hitting a kneecap in the process. Words failed him as he moved. A hush fell temporarily as he practically flew out of his chair, retreating to the hall and out of sight. There was a slamming of a door, and then, Matthew's face contorted into a look of pure embarrassment and shame.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, suddenly finding it hard to look the other two men in the eye. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately…"

"Why are you saying sorry?" Gilbert inquired rhetorically, sighing as he reclined back in his chair a bit, eyes trailing over the spot where Alfred was previously seated. "It isn't your fault."

"But still, I…" Matthew faltered for a second, before he shook his head. One hand absently reached up to brush a strand of curly hair from his eyes. "I'm his brother, and—"

"So what? He's in control of his own actions. And it's not like he's being easy to get along with these days. If he's not letting you help or giving you any answers, then there's only so much you can do, right?" Gilbert sighed, shoulders rolling in a shrug. It may have sounded harsh, but he wasn't really the coddling type. "I mean, yeah, we're all trying to help him out, but you can't beat yourself up if nothing works simply because he's too stubborn to let anyone in or actually bother to acknowledge that he actually _needs _help."

"Has he not been telling you anything either?"

"You're joking, right?" Gilbert let out a snort. "I've been trying to pry it out of him for months. I mean, granted, I was there. I'm pretty sure I know what all is going through his head. But that's not the point. If he doesn't talk about it or anything he's never going to let go of it. It bothers him, we all know it does, but I can't read minds and neither can you. So until he spills it, I don't…really think he's going to change. I'm trying, I really am, to get him to talk, but he never does. He just brushes it off like it's nothing. And I can tell you, it's not 'nothing'. Even after all the help I went and got once I came home, I still have a bad day too sometimes, or wake up in the middle of the night. It never goes away, but for God's sake, if I had pushed away help the same way he had I'm pretty sure both of us would be in the same boat."

"He's stubborn," Matthew added, sighing a bit as he rubbed his palms down his face in a stressed manner. "Really, really stubborn. He's a great guy, just hardheaded. He's been like that ever since we were little."

"I can tell. The kid's been stubborn as hell since the first day I met him back in basic," Gilbert replied, rolling his eyes. "I can't even tell you how many times that got him in trouble with the higher-ups. Or his mouth. I mean, I talk a lot, yeah. I _know _I talk a lot and that I talk loud, too, but he didn't know when to quit."

"Honestly, I kinda…miss him being really loud and not knowing when to shut up," Matthew nearly whispered after a brief pause. He shrugged his shoulders gingerly, a trickle of sadness flickering into his eyes. "I don't know. It doesn't even feel like he's Alfred anymore. I hate it, I really hate it."

"Yeah… I do too." Gilbert's voice had grown strangely soft. It wasn't a common occurrence; his speaking voice was typically boisterous, whether or not he was constantly aware of it. "Never thought I would, but I do, honestly."

For a few short moments, there was silence. For Matthew, it was normal. The apartment was typically quiet whenever he was home. After all, Alfred didn't talk much these days. Ludwig seemed content with it as well, but Gilbert seemed uncomfortable. He was constantly used to noise and talking; sitting in silence wasn't quite his forte. Right when he opened his mouth to speak, however, there was a slight banging sound from the other end of the small apartment.

"Lemme go check on him," Gilbert sighed out as he rose from the table. He stumbled a little as he struggled to regain his balance. He then wandered off down the hall, hobbling as he went. It wasn't that hard to memorize the layout of the apartment; it was a very small space, after all. He had easily soaked it in during his visits to see Alfred.

Peering into the bedroom, he blinked in surprise to find Alfred lying on the floor. Instantaneously, worry plagued his insides, and he hurried into the small room, doing his best to lower himself to the man's level.

"Alfred? Hey, what happened, did you fall?" he asked, linking his hands about Alfred's large arms. With quite a bit of effort, he managed to haul the blonde into a sitting position, using the bed to support his back. God, the guy was heavy. He frowned at the lack of response he received. He nudged Alfred against the bicep. "Hey, I'm talking to you. What's up?"

No answer. Gilbert frowned, a very bad feeling creeping into his belly. Alfred wasn't even looking at him. With a pale hand he reached out and let his fingers brush against the man's face, looking for some kind of physical reaction to his touch, but received none. He proceeded to wrap a few fingers about Alfred's chin, adjusting the angle of his head so he could get a better view of his face. Alfred's blue eyes seemed to stare right through him, a million miles away, completely gone. Gilbert froze, now noticing just how erratic Alfred's breathing was.

"Shit." He fumbled around for a second, one hand grabbing at Alfred's, just hoping touch would be enough to try to bring him back. He kept eye contact the best he could, but it was hard with the blonde seeming to be looking right through him instead. "Alfred. Alfred, you're in your room. You're okay. It's okay."

Honestly, he wished he could just say 'snap out of it' and have the guy listen to him, but that wouldn't work, and he knew it.

Alfred was starting to fight against him. He was squirming, and it was taking quite a lot out of Gilbert to hold him still. He had quite a bit of upper body strength, but Alfred was bigger than he was, and a lot stronger. Gilbert hooked his hands tightly about the man's arms, trying to halt his movement, and he found himself rapidly becoming desperate. Breaking out of a trance himself was hard enough; snapping someone else out of one was almost just as bad.

"Kid, it's alright! I'm here, it's okay!" Alfred's elbow knocked him in the jaw and Gilbert cursed rather loudly as he bit his tongue in the process, struggling to hold the blonde in place. He could hear footsteps coming down the hall; he was positive the commotion in the small apartment had sparked attention. "Jones! _Jones!"_

"_Dammit, Jones, I said _stay down_!"_

_A pale hand practically smashed his head down into the dirt. Alfred coughed, the sand choking him as it clouded the air. His eyes were watering, his lungs burning. Blood stained his hair and his jacket sleeve and his knuckles. He struggled to breathe, and the added weight slowly settling on top of him was not helping. He coughed violently, uninjured arm rising to cover his nose as he struggled to get more oxygen into his lungs, and he remained sprawled out on his back in the sand._

_Even with their close proximity, he struggled to get a proper view of the man's face through the thick haze, surrounded by nothing but smoke and dirt and dust. Gilbert groaned a bit, arms shaking as he slowly gave up, letting his body collapse atop of Alfred's. He was panting pathetically, body shaking. His face was wet with sweat, grime caking his skin, a pained and yet faraway look in his eyes as his body struggled to pump him full of endorphins to make the pain stop. Alfred felt something wet graze against him, and he picked his head up for one split second to look. The sight of Gilbert's pants being bright red instantly made him put his head back down._

"_I'm tired." His voice was a whisper that Alfred barely heard over the roar. He could barely pick up the mumble against the whizzing of bullets and the sound of bombs and people screaming. And right now, all they could do was wait for it to stop. Gilbert actually laughed a bit, slowly putting his head down on Alfred's trembling chest. "Christ, I'm so tired."_

"_Don't go to sleep." Alfred's words were an instant reply. He fisted a hand into the back of his friend's jacket. His eyes were wet. Heat pooled behind his eyelids and he was suddenly sniveling as he struggled not to cry. "Gilbert, please, try to stay awake."_

"_Just for a sec," he mumbled, eyes closing. However, he let out a grunt as Alfred's hand suddenly snagged him by the strap of his helmet, jerking his head up. His red eyes blinked open. "Ow! Alfred, get off!"_

"_Why did you do that?!" Alfred was suddenly screaming, blue eyes flashing with anger. "Why did you save me?! Damn it, Gilbert, you should've let me go! Look what happened to you!"_

"_It's a wound." Gilbert's voice was simplistic. His snowy eyebrows drew close together._

"_It's a lot more than that! You're gushing like a faucet; that's more than a wound!" Alfred was screaming. He struggled to sit up, weighed down with his gear, and Gilbert's body. Gilbert instantly shoved him back down with a bloodied hand, leaving a print on the front of his jacket._

"_I told you to stay down!" Gilbert was shouting back. The noise was too much. They could barely hear one another now._

"_Shut up!" Alfred bellowed, shoving at him violently now. The man let out a grunt as Alfred pushed him away, and he fell to the ground, going breathless at the agony that shot through him as his leg was jostled roughly. Alfred sat up, but remained hunched over, pressing his back to the quaking wall behind him. "You shouldn't have done that!"_

"_Done what? Gave you another chance to live?!" Gilbert screeched back at him, too weak to even try to get up. His skin was a ghostly white. "What did you want me to do, Alfred?! Just leave you there?! What kind of comrade would I be if I did that?!"_

"_I wasn't worth it!" Alfred felt the dam crumbling. "I wasn't worth you almost getting killed over! I wasn't worth you getting hurt like this over! I wasn't worth the fact that you're probably going to lose a leg! I wasn't _worth _it!"_

"_Shut the fuck up, Alfred! Quit talking nonsense!" Gilbert snarled, red eyes flashing. "What kind of soldier, what kind of comrade, what kind of _person _would I be if I had just sat back and let you die?! Huh?! You're important, whether or not you can see that! You're important to _me, _you dumbass! Now knock it off!"_

_He gagged, for a moment sounding like he was trying to vomit. Gilbert weakly rolled onto his back, sounding like he was suddenly struggling to breathe._

"_It's not fair." Alfred mumbled, lowering himself down beside Gilbert. He ripped open his bag, lugging out gauze and tape and cloth. Gilbert's eyes blearily blinked back open, staring at him from underneath sweat-drenched hair. "Why them? Why not me? They had families, and kids, and…"_

"_Stop. Stop, Alfred." Gilbert shook his head weakly, groaning as Alfred tried to dress his injury the best he could, putting pressure onto the wound to try to get the bleeding to slow down. "Don't do that to yourself. There was nothing we could do. We just have to do our best from now on. That's it."_

"_Are you going to die, too?" Alfred asked quietly, vision blurring pathetically._

"_From what? This?" Gilbert let out a barking laugh, before he dissolved into rough coughs. "Give me some credit here."_

"_Gilbert?" Alfred's voice was tiny. He suddenly choked, tears suddenly pouring out of him. They rolled down his cheeks and the dirt caking his skin began to practically melt off his skin as it dampened. "I'm sorry…"_

"_Me too." Gilbert coughed loudly, seeming to be choking on the dust just as much as Alfred was. "I'm sorry too."_

"_I'm scared."_

_Gilbert's eyes blinked a few times, before he sighed. He stared up at Alfred's face, watching tears course down his cheeks like tiny rivers, and he nodded absently._

"_I am too, Jones."_

"Jones!"

Reality seemed to slap him harshly across the face. Nausea crashed violently over him. His eyes blinked several times as his head struggled to move fast enough to observe his surroundings.

It took him a second to realize he was in Matthew's bed. And it took him even longer to realize that Ludwig was pinning him down, flat of his back, hands shackled about his arms, and knees crushing down on his thighs. He vaguely felt his muscles relaxing, weakness suddenly settling into his bones. Gilbert and Matthew were both hovering over him. Gilbert's cheek looked bruised, and Alfred felt his stomach grow cold suddenly.

_Did I do that?_

"Kid?" Gilbert leaned a bit closer to him, eyes wide and worried. "Are you back? Can you hear me okay?"

Ludwig slowly got off of him, but Alfred didn't dare to move. Three pairs of eyes stared down at him, but the only ones he could focus on were Gilbert's. For a moment, all he could see was haze and dirt and grime on the man's face, and he blinked multiple times, struggling to get the visions out of his mind. Heat rose behind his eyelids and he blinked blearily, tears suddenly swimming in his eyes. A small sob suddenly surfaced from the depths of his throat and he struggled violently to hold it.

"Alfred…" He heard Matthew's voice, and he cringed away from the hand that tried to settle onto his shoulder.

It won before he had a chance to fight back. Against his own control, Alfred felt the walls crumbling. A loud, pathetic sob bubbled from his lips, and he erupted, tears suddenly pouring out of him. Desperate and ashamed, he draped an arm over his eyes, hiding himself from sight the best he could as he sobbed loudly and pathetically. It had been a long, long time since he had properly cried. He was the one to hold it, and hold it, and _hold it _until his body just refused to allow it anymore. And this was one of those times. He just couldn't fight back anymore.

He could barely hear the voices over the sound of his own crying. He could vaguely hear speaking, but he couldn't understand what was being said. It took him a second to realize it was German, and as he dared himself to peek out from underneath his limb, he found that it was only him and Gilbert left in the bedroom. Ludwig and Matthew had vanished. Gilbert and Ludwig must have been speaking in their native tongue again. They had done that multiple times, and Alfred figured this time was simply so that he wouldn't be able to understand what was going on. Maybe to not upset him any further, Alfred didn't know.

Gilbert slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, not saying a single word, just letting Alfred cry for as long as he wanted. When the sobs died down to sniffles, Gilbert finally turned his head to look at him.

"You feelin' any better?" His voice was uncharacteristically soft and his eyes shone brightly with worry. "You seemed to have been in a really, really bad trance there."

"I guess." That was what he said, but deep down, he didn't feel any better at all. If anything he only felt worse. Not to mention he had broken down sobbing in front of everyone. His heart felt like a rock inside his chest. He couldn't keep his eyes off the mark on his friend's face. "Did I hit you?"

Gilbert blinked for a second, seeming genuinely lost and confused at that question. Then he noticed Alfred's gaze and he frowned, letting a hand gingerly trace the swelling bruise on his cheek. He hesitated, seeming to not want to answer.

"I did, didn't I?" Alfred asked, but his tone made it sound more like a statement rather than a question. A wave of anger suddenly thrummed inside his heart. What next? "I'm sorry. God, Gilbert, I'm so fucking sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault, Alfred—"

"It is too my fault! I'm the one that did it!"

"Okay, but even so, it wasn't _you_, Alfred." Gilbert challenged. He roughly shook his head. "You're saying this as if you straight up meant to do it, which you _didn't_. So don't worry about it. You couldn't help it. People do some weird things when they're in flashbacks. I know it and you know it."

For a long moment, Alfred was quiet. He sniffled a bit as he lifted his glasses to wipe at his eyes with the back of a scarred hand. He could feel Gilbert watching him.

"I didn't think I was this bad," Alfred finally mumbled. His voice was quiet, almost hollow, and he hunched over and hid his face in his hands. Gilbert's hand absently settled on his back, rubbing. "That it was all this bad. What the hell is _wrong _with me?"

"You've been through some nasty stuff, Alfred. That's what is wrong. And I honestly think you don't know how to handle it, otherwise, you wouldn't be suffering like this." Gilbert rubbed a pale hand along Alfred's upper back, sighing. "You need to let us help you. You're scaring us, and I can tell by looking at you that you're starting to scare yourself. You aren't going to get better until you let someone in. You know that."

"Yeah." Alfred's voice cracked and he felt his throat tightening as the urge to cry suddenly welled back up inside of him. He choked on an exhale and leaned over, hiding his face in Gilbert's shoulder. "I know. I just… I…"

"You don't have to explain if you don't want to, Alfred. And if you don't know how to, that's okay too." Gilbert sighed as he patted the man on the back. "Maybe you just can't talk about it with us because you know us too well. It probably feels weird for you, yeah? And I know you…honestly don't want to talk about it with _me _of all people, whether or not you'll tell me that to my face. It's touchy, I know it is. But Alfred, for crying out loud, you've gotta cut me some slack here and help me out."

"Sorry." He really meant it that time. He really, really did. "I just… I don't…know what to say. I don't know how to say it. I…"

"I know. It's hard, I know it is." Gilbert looped an arm about his shoulders and yanked him closer in a hug. "But you need to try a bit harder, okay? You're falling apart on us, kid. If you're having problems telling us, because you know us too well or don't want it to be weird, or whatever else, you could try looking at someone else, you know. Ludwig signing me up for that therapist was a great idea. And I mean, you could always try to find others your own age too, if that's more comfortable for you. I don't know. Other vets, or something, and I'm sure my buddies wouldn't mind listening or could somehow hook you up. You just need to work with us on it, Alfred, that's one major thing."

"Yeah. I know… I _know_…" Alfred mumbled, sighing. "I… Yeah. I just… I'll try. I'll see what I can do."

"That's all I'm asking for."

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: End<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello again! Thank you to all my reviewers for the last chapter, I'm really glad to hear you're enjoying the fic so far! My goal is to keep this fic updated at least once a week, so we'll see what happens I suppose. Anyway! Hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>The few nights before they were set to leave seemed painfully long. He really did want to go at this point, but for whatever reason, simply thinking about it made him anxious. Maybe it was because he wasn't used to things like that anymore. He used to travel all the time, since, well, being in the service required it. But ever since he had gotten out of the army, he really hadn't traveled anywhere other than the opposite end of the city. That didn't count, really. Maybe that was what was making him so tense.<p>

Then again, maybe it was because he wasn't sure of what he was getting into. After all, Gilbert had said his buddies were good people – they must have been, if Gilbert called them his friends – and Alfred trusted his judgment on that, but how were they going to react to him? Would his behavior frighten them? Make them uncomfortable? How many attacks was he going to have on this trip, and just how many of them were going to strike him while he was around these new people? How badly would they judge him for it?

He honestly felt sick to his stomach when Gilbert knocked on his door early that Friday morning.

Matthew had agreed to watch over their apartment for them while they were gone, and take care of the dogs. Alfred took a moment to say goodbye to his brother that morning as Matthew was getting ready for work. Gilbert started blabbering on about how he was going to keep an eye on Alfred, and he sighed, grabbing his suitcase as he practically dragged his friend out of the apartment. Best to cut him off before he started talking _too _much.

It was going to be a long drive. Gilbert started informing him about the travel plans as he loaded his suitcase into the trunk of Ludwig's car. They had to jump quite a few state lines, after all. Judging from Gilbert's words, it didn't sound like they were going to make it until the next morning. Then again, they probably could make it by nightfall if they tried hard enough, but with Ludwig being the only driver, Alfred knew he needed his rest.

He honestly wished he could've helped out somehow instead of merely taking up space in the backseat. But no matter how much he wanted to be of some kind of assistance, he couldn't do much. He didn't trust himself enough these days to drive a car. If he went into a trance while he was driving, it would be a disaster, and the last thing he wanted to do was be the cause of someone getting killed via an automobile accident. And, well, Gilbert couldn't drive a normal car anymore either ever since his amputation. So they had no other choice, really, than to leave the driving to Ludwig, and Alfred simply remained quiet in the back of the car.

Some of the trip left the three of them in silence. Certain durations they spent listening to the radio. Other times, it was just grossly still, and even Gilbert seemed too wrapped up in his own head to talk, just staring absently out the car window. Even with all the help he had received, Alfred knew it all crept up on him too sometimes.

Most of the time, though, was normal, and that meant Gilbert talking to break the silence. Alfred was honestly a bit thankful for it. It was a bit of an uneasy, almost tense stillness at some periods, and having something, anything, to break it, was a relief.

Ludwig wasn't a very talkative individual, and Alfred wasn't either, not anymore at least. So, most of the time, Gilbert was the one to ramble. It wasn't even always about what was interesting to him, either. Alfred could tell he was just trying to include the both of them when he went on about something, just trying to appeal to them both and make them feel included. Gilbert, in general, loved to talk, and Alfred knew it. All three of them knew it. But besides that, he really did have a few weak spots. And a giant one was for those he cared about. Talking with them meant you got to spend time with them, and listen to them, and grow closer to them, and that was what it was really about, usually. He loved his family and friends deeply, even if he wouldn't fess up and say it.

It was sometimes a bit obvious, especially when Gilbert delved into his native tongue with his sibling, especially when it grew later and he was talking to his brother to keep him awake while he drove. The two of them spoke English perfectly, despite it being a second language, and it was how they commonly spoke whenever anyone else was around, especially Alfred. English meant others could be included. But when they were talking amongst themselves, they slipped back, and Alfred wasn't sure if they always realized they were doing it. Gilbert was notorious for it, really. Sometimes translating took too much energy, and his English would fizzle out into slurred German nonsense whenever he grew too tired. He had a habit of dipping into it without even thinking if his temper suddenly sparked. Regardless, it was who he was, it was what he was raised with, and whatever made him comfortable and happy – both of them – he didn't really mind it.

They ate at a diner and crashed in a hotel for the night. Alfred received a bed all for himself as the brothers carelessly bunked together. He attempted to argue about the decision, but to no avail, so he simply accepted it. He curled up on his side, facing the wall, and he assumed they thought he had fallen asleep, judging by how Gilbert quietly was trying to talk to his brother. After a while his whispering grew even more hushed, and the German phrases coming out of his mouth melted away into snoring.

Alfred was the last one asleep. And even then he was the first one awake, jerking into reality with clammy skin and a panicked heart with the sound of bombs exploding inside his head. He laid there for a long moment, focusing on breathing, ears filled with the sound of the AC unit humming and Gilbert mumbling in his slumber.

He couldn't fall back asleep after that.

They had another few hours left, and it didn't really surprise him when Gilbert nodded off again once they made it onto the highway. He could sleep half a day away without problem. Alfred was a bit jealous of it, honestly. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten that much sleep. It must have been years, now.

"I hope he didn't pressure you too badly." Ludwig spoke suddenly, making Alfred jump a bit. Alfred caught sight of his eyes from the rearview mirror. The man always had such cold, icy eyes, but there was warmth behind them that Alfred could always detect. "To come with us, I mean. I know sometimes he can get a bit carried away."

"It's fine. Really. I… Well, I probably needed the push. He's just trying to help me." Alfred shrugged and sank back into the soft seat. "Your brother is a really good friend. A good man."

"He's a real piece of work." Despite the gruff done, there was a smile on Ludwig's face. "But I can't really argue with you. He means well, he just has an odd way of doing things."

* * *

><p>Alfred had to admit, the town was beautiful. It was one of the tiniest places he had ever seen. He could tell Gilbert hadn't been exaggerating when he talked about how all the residents knew each other by name. The place was so <em>little<em>, lined with quiet streets and quaint buildings colored soft, pleasing hues. There were a ton of trees, surrounding the edges of roads and planted in the fronts of lawns. Even the sight of the marble statue at the town hall they drove past made him speechless.

"So, are you going to supply me with a background story here, or…?" Alfred trailed off, partially joking, and completely curious at the same time. He really did want to know. "How did you even find a place like this? Make friends here?"

"Oh. I was born here. Raised here, too." Gilbert flashed him a grin over one shoulder. "My folks were German, which I think is kinda obvious, but yeah, they wound up here somehow, I guess. Not too sure. I never got a chance to ask them before they killed over. But, anyway, I was here through high school. I had connections in New York so Ludwig and I just kinda jumped ship and headed over there before I joined the army. It's hard to find a job and crap like that in a place like this, you know what I mean?"

"They were probably glad to see us leave," Ludwig muttered with a slight roll of his eyes. "They didn't call your little group the 'bad friends trio' for nothing, I'm sure."

"Aw, c'mon, cut me some slack! That was years ago! I'll have you know that I am, one hundred percent, a changed man." He was practically whining by now. He swiveled around a bit to properly look Alfred in the eye. He smiled brightly. "My friends are really cool guys, though. Not as cool as me, but still. I hope you can hit it off with them. I'm sure they're gonna love you."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but half an hour later, he knew whatever had previously been in his mind didn't even come close to reality.

The first thing he noticed during introductions was that Gilbert's friends both had smiles just as bright as he did. The second thing he picked up on was that the three of them had an array of different personalities that probably should have conflicted, but for whatever reason, they just seemed to complement each other. Maybe they just balanced each other out?

Francis and Antonio were roommates, and Alfred could understand the basis behind it. It made bills and staying close to friends or family easier. He was a bit surprised by how easily they accepted him, with bright eyes and smiles and Alfred wasn't quite sure of what to do.

Antonio was the tallest of the three, with short, chestnut colored hair, and tanned, warm skin. His eyes were a bright, glimmering shade of green, and his smile was huge, filled with white teeth. He seemed to have a sunny personality, even more so than Gilbert did, and wasn't as loud as his pale friend. Overall, all Alfred could see was someone happy-go-lucky and sweet.

Francis had skin a few shades lighter than his own, and blonde hair that fell in gentle waves to his shoulders. His eyes were blue and his face was marked with scruff. He was just barely shorter than Alfred was, and he seemed to have the same amount of confidence thrumming in his veins as Gilbert. However, Alfred noticed that he seemed much more composed and controlled when it came to his emotions, and his speaking voice.

The fact that Antonio had an accent that was Spanish and Francis carried one that was French, well, combined with Gilbert and Ludwig having German ones, he felt a bit self-conscious at the fact he carried no accent at all when he spoke.

Alfred sat there quietly on the couch, just listening to everyone talk. The beer in his hand was warm by now, and he had only managed to stomach half of it. Gilbert and Ludwig had delved into the case a lot more than he had. Despite their many differences, they both shared a love for beer, it seemed. Francis and Antonio had opened up a bottle of wine for themselves. He could tell be the casual atmosphere and how everyone was laughing as signal that he was supposed to feel relaxed, but for whatever reason, he felt tense. He couldn't shake it. It felt like something was creeping up on his mind all of a sudden, and he didn't like it.

If he did fall into an attack right here, right now, what was he going to do? Where would he go? What could he possibly say? Would he able to snap out of it quick to even do any of those things? Or would it be like last time, where he was so deep Gilbert could barely bring him back to reality, and he became a mess of sobs and swinging limbs?

Struggling to clear his mind, and shrug the negative feelings suddenly clouding him, he tried to instead focus in on what the others were saying.

"Did you get a hold of Kirkland?" Gilbert asked, taking another swig of his drink.

"Sort of," Francis answered as he shrugged lightly. "He'll be here soon enough, though, I'm sure. I placed an order; he doesn't really have a choice but to deliver it."

"You're a sly man."

"Antonio's idea," Francis replied casually, lips pulling into a smile around the rim of his glass. "I mean, hey, there's no malicious intent here. I just wanted us to be together for once, like during the old days, but you and I both know if I straight up said 'Gilbert is at the house with me and Antonio, you wanna come over?', he'd shoot down that invitation in a heartbeat. You know how he is."

It had been one simple word. And Alfred knew he didn't mean anything by it. It was just a word, a simple and innocent one. But a meager uttering of that word brought a chill down his spine. Shoot. Shoot, shoot—

_Don't think about it. _Alfred swallowed roughly as he buried his face into an empty palm, clutching his drink in the other. It was a word, just a word. He couldn't be getting this worked up over a simple word. _Don't think, don't think, don't think._

He could almost hear the whizzing of bullets.

He let out a bit of a breathless gasp as something gripped at him tightly. His head shot upwards, hand falling, blue eyes widening in alarm. Gilbert's pale hand had latched onto his forearm as the two sat next to one another on the couch. The older man had leaned in towards him a little, his voice a mere whisper that no one else seemed to notice as Francis talked about his job down at the bakery.

"Do you feel alright?" Gilbert asked him in that hushed tone, obviously not wanting to draw attention from the others, though Alfred could see Ludwig watching from the corner of his eye. Gilbert's red eyes glimmered with worry underneath his mess of bangs as he stared at Alfred. "You're pale. Do you need to lie down?"

"Fine," Alfred mumbled in reply, a bit too quickly. He felt a bead of sweat run down his face, and he moved at a quick pace to wipe it away. He tried to concentrate on Gilbert's face, to stay grounded through his voice, or Francis's voice, or Antonio's laugh, and it was all hard to do. Everything seemed so distant all of a sudden. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Gilbert asked him, snowy eyebrows drawing in tightly over his eyes. Doubt clouded his face, but his grip on Alfred's thick arm slackened a bit regardless. "Did you wanna step outside for a second? Get some air?"

"Yeah," Alfred replied anxiously. Getting out for even a moment sounded great. The air here suddenly felt too thick and his brain felt foggy. It was hard to breathe. He was teetering on the edge, he knew he was, and he needed to get away somehow before he slipped over it. He withdrew his arm from Gilbert's grip a bit too quickly, and jumped to his feet. "I, um. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He felt multiple eyes staring at him as he stumbled across the room and towards the front door. He was sure he was supposed to feel ashamed, embarrassed, _something_, but the rapid swell of panic in his heart was already too much. He couldn't focus on anything else.

He closed the front door a bit rougher than he intended, nearly slamming it, and his hands trembled as he made his way down the front steps.

For a moment, a hush fell inside the home. Gilbert sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

"Your friend is a rather…interesting individual," Francis commented. His tone was not insulting, and he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. His thin blonde eyebrows upturned in a rather concerned manner. "Alfred was his name, right? He seems… I don't know. Troubled?"

"Yeah," Gilbert mumbled, dragging a palm down one side of his face for a second as he exhaled slowly, seeming to be trying to collect himself. "He's a nice guy, he really is. He's just…going through a really hard time right now."

"Is he the one you mentioned to us a few times? Your friend from the army?"

"Uh huh. That's him." Gilbert's gaze fell to the drink in his hand. "He's just been having a really rough time readjusting since we made it home. War never really leaves a person, but, I mean… It's just been hitting him really badly, you know what I mean?"

"Seeing that we watched you go through something very similar once you came home, yes, we understand." Francis frowned. "Has he not been recovering at all since you two returned? I think that was the last time you mentioned him to us, when we came to see you after your surgery…"

"He hasn't gotten any better since then, no. I honestly think he's getting worse." Gilbert's hand absently traced the dark, swollen bruise on his cheek. He sat there for a moment, trying to think of what to even say at this point. His chest suddenly felt tight. Heat was suddenly pooling in his eyes. Tears began welling up against his control, and he instantly fought to hold them in. "I'm worried about him. I really, honestly, am worried about this kid. Like, really really worried. For fuck's sake, we're _all _worried about him, and he still won't let us help."

He choked, closing his eyes. Antonio had switched places by now, having seated himself on the couch beside Gilbert. He wrangled a tanned arm about his friend's shoulders, pulling him inward and towards himself, and Gilbert simply let him do it. The much paler male absently rested his head against the other. Gilbert bit down roughly on his lower lip and lowered his head suddenly. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, color dancing behind his eyelids, performing an endless tango with one another, creating blobs of greens and yellows and reds. A few hot tears ran down his cheeks.

"You guys have gotta help me out. I don't know what else to do. Nothing is working." The confidence he constantly harbored was gone, evaporated right out of his bones. Rare insecurity leaked out from within him, his fronts starting to crumble. A small sob rose from the depths of his throat. "I can't lose him, too. I can't. I can't lose anyone else."

* * *

><p>He sat outside for a lot longer than a few minutes. At first he simply stood around and tried to focus on getting more of that much-needed oxygen into his lungs. After he managed to readjust his breathing rate, and come down from his impending panic attack, he tried to simply relax a little. Anything he could do to avoid a flashback, really, was an option. He seated himself on the bottom brick step and just sat there. He surveyed the other houses next to this one in the little neighborhood, counted the trees he could see, watched the clouds. If it kept him calm and kept his mind busy, that was all that mattered at the moment.<p>

But after a while, those little things stopped working. He then planted himself in the grass in front of the little flower garden next to the front steps, and started pulling up weeds. It was work, and it probably wasn't something most people would want to waste their time with, but he found his muscles finally relaxing completely and his head clearing as he delved into the task.

For a little while, at least, he would have some peace, and the quiet of the surrounding world was probably helping.

He wasn't sure how long he sat outside. Occasionally a lone car would drift by on the small road behind him, but besides that, things were quiet. The world seemed still. The sun was warm against his skin. He, for once, felt some inner peace.

"Make sure you get the roots. They'll come back otherwise."

The voice was so sudden that Alfred jumped. He didn't recognize it, either. He spun around slightly, dirty hands rising from the depths of soil, to find the source. Behind him, on the tiny paved walkway, was a blonde-haired man, watching him. There was a small white car parked on the side of the street, and Alfred had not even realized it had pulled up next to the house. For a moment, the man simply stood there, before he finally cocked his head a little, staring at Alfred quizzically.

"I'm sorry, but… Have we met before?" the stranger asked him. "I apologize if we have; my memory isn't what it used to be."

"No, I… Um. We haven't." Alfred stumbled on his words, mentally slapping himself in the process. Apparently speaking like a normal human being was something he couldn't do at all these days. He quickly rose to his feet once the man started to walk across the lawn in his direction. He wiped a palm on the front of his jeans carelessly before he accepted the man's extended hand. "Alfred."

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland." The man smiled at him warmly. His hair looked a mess. It was blonde and short, but his bangs came close to sweeping into his eyes. Alfred swallowed a bit. This man had one of the most stunning pair of eyes he had ever seen. They were green, a bit like Antonio's. But… Antonio's seemed different. His reminded Alfred of forests and open fields. Arthur's eyes were bright like emeralds, almost sparkling. His skin was colored in a similar fashion to Francis's, tinted a soft shade of peach. His eyebrows sparked a lot of Alfred's attention too; he wasn't sure he had ever seen someone with eyebrows that thick in his life. He was clean shaven as well, and not a single flaw visible on his face. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a simplistic black button-up, sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows and the bottom tucked in. He seemed like an awfully scrawny thing. "Nice to meet you."

Alfred nodded curtly, letting Arthur withdraw his hand. The man was holding onto a small bouquet of flowers. Alfred wasn't sure what they were. They were mixed though, colored an assortment of yellows and whites and magentas and scarlets. They were nothing like roses, nothing quite so overly romantic or majestic. He couldn't quite place the smell of them either, but then again, he wasn't really close enough to get a good whiff of them either way.

"Zinnia," Arthur said suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. The man smiled faintly. "It's kind a friendship flower, I guess you could say. Thinking of a friend, especially one you haven't seen in a while, I suppose is a good way to put it? Speaking of which, did you order these? I figured it may have been Francis, but with you working on the garden…?"

Alfred stared at him blankly for a long moment, before he fully understood.

"Oh. Oh, no, I…" he stammered, shaking his head. "I think Francis ordered them. I just…kinda came out here to work. Find something to do."

"I thought for a second he hired you as a gardener or something similar," Arthur replied, actually laughing a little. What a wonderful sound that was. Alfred could dare to say it reminded him of bells. "I hope this doesn't sound weird, but, like… I don't know, we've never met before, and usually people here know each other on a first name basis. People don't usually come wandering in unless they want a job or something."

"Oh… No. I don't work for Francis, if that's what you're getting at. I just met the guy, too, so I mean… Yeah." Alfred shrugged inwardly. "I'm just visiting."

"Visiting? Francis has never really mentioned you…or Antonio, either." Arthur let out a snort and rolled his eyes. "You could probably score better friends than those two knuckleheads."

"No, no, I… Um. A friend of mine is visiting them, I just sorta came along?" he said tentatively, trying to choose his words carefully. It had been so long that he had such a long conversation it was hard to do it. "He's friends with them."

Why was he standing here talking so much about his personal life with a stranger? And, better yet, why didn't it feel weird to do it?

"Ah. I see," Arthur nodded for a moment in understanding, before he paused, enormous eyebrows drawing downwards. "Wait. Okay, this is probably a really weird question, but I have to ask. Does your friend have, like…really white hair? Reddish eyes?"

"Yeah, why?" Alfred asked, blinking in surprise when Arthur suddenly let out a groan, burying his face into one palm. "What's the matter?"

"Those three are literally _the worst _when they're all together," Arthur replied, roughly shaking his head. "I can tolerate them individually, but all three of them hanging out in the same place is hell. Ugh, I knew something was up when I got this order so suddenly this morning. Most people don't order unless there's a holiday, or a wedding or a birthday or _something_. And even so, you know, zinnia isn't exactly the most popular choice. Damn it. Guess I walked right into this one."

Alfred wasn't even sure of what to say.

"Guess I'll go meet my impending doom, then." Arthur sighed and started to turn away from him then, bouquet in one hand. He flashed Alfred a smile filled with white teeth. "The flower bed looks lovely, by the way. Nice meeting you!"

Alfred just stood there for a moment, completely dumbfounded, as Arthur wandered up to the front door and started pounding on it.

He really, honestly, had no idea of what to even think anymore. This felt like some weird dream sequence. He couldn't remember the last time he had met someone new or had conversed with someone so easily, let alone a total stranger. What the hell just happened?

When he stole another glance at the front porch, he found Arthur absent. Judging from the bickering he could hear coming from inside, he could only assume they had dragged him indoors. He frowned in a puzzled fashion as he inched closer to the front door. May as well go inside and check it out. He hadn't been back indoors in a while, even though he said he'd be back in a few minutes.

The first thing he heard when he opened the front door was squabbling. Francis and Arthur were aimlessly bickering about something, but Alfred wasn't quite sure what it was. Gilbert and Ludwig were still sitting on the couch and Antonio was perched in a nearby chair. Alfred stood awkwardly in the doorway for a long moment, watching as Francis and Arthur argued with one another as they stood in the middle of the room. Had he come in at a bad time?

"Hey, I was wondering where you went off to." Gilbert was the first one to notice him. His friend flashed him a grin and patted the empty seat next to him. "You can come and sit back down, you know. They always fight like this, don't worry about it."

Alfred slowly and hesitantly wandered back into the living room and sat down next to Gilbert on the couch. The man gingerly nudged him in the ribcage with an elbow.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked, staring at Alfred with concerned eyes over the rim of his drink.

"Actually… Yeah," Alfred said honestly, feeling a bit surprised that he could say such a thing. He wasn't feeling too bad right now. It was a bit odd. Maybe all the excitement had distracted him? He wasn't sure. He glanced sideways at Gilbert, and frowned. His eyes were a bit bloodshot. "Are you okay? Your eyes are red."

Gilbert instantly cut his gaze away. Alfred didn't need to know he had been crying.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it." He shook his head a little and then waved a hand absently in the direction of the two men still childishly bickering with one another. He changed the subject a bit too quickly. "I'm guessing you met Arthur already?"

"Kinda. We talked a little bit while I was outside." Alfred shrugged. "I'm guessing he's a friend of yours?"

"Ehh, I guess so. He's more of Francis's friend, we all just sort of followed suit. He went to school with us growing up." Gilbert leaned back into the couch. "Since, like, elementary school. I'm pretty sure he and Francis almost dated during high school but they argue like a couple of old geezers so that didn't really fly. They still fight, as you can tell. They're too much alike, I guess. But yeah, I guess we're friends? Sorta. We've known each other long enough and well enough and have hung out enough, so, yeah, I suppose we're friends."

"'Suppose'?" Alfred echoed, a blonde eyebrow arching skyward.

"Yeah. Frenemies, maybe. We can be civil to each other but at the same time we kinda pick on him a bit. Not to say he doesn't get us back, but still." Gilbert laughed a little. "He gets on our nerves and we get on his but we're pals in our own fucked up way, I guess."

Alfred was quiet. Arthur was saying something about how Francis should have warned him about everyone being over here before he came over, about how childish they were to set him up, and Francis bickering back about how overly sensitive he was, about how they just wanted to see him, and, well, Alfred could tell they had known each other for a long time.

"You'll probably be seeing him a lot," Gilbert elaborated as he handed Alfred a beer. "I hope that's okay."

"We came here for you to see your friends again. I don't see why you would feel the need to try to make me be okay with it, but okay." Alfred cracked the can open and shrugged. "But yeah. It's fine. Seriously."

That was the truth. He let his eyes roam over to the bickering men again and he studied Arthur's face for a moment, those green eyes a wonderful distraction.

Yeah. He wouldn't mind seeing Arthur around a bit more.

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: End<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello, welcome back! Thank you again to my reviewers, you really keep me going here. I'm not quite sure exactly how long this fic is going to be, but I know for certain it will be shorter than Like It or Not. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

><p>One thing he came to understand rather quickly was that Francis working in a bakery was not just for show. The man had baked them a cake entirely from scratch as a welcoming gesture, flavored a wonderful vanilla, and honestly, it was one of the few things Alfred had eaten over the past few months that actually had a taste to it. And to top it off, it tasted <em>amazing.<em>

Francis was going to cook dinner for them and Alfred was surprised at how eager he had been on the inside when he heard that news. If he could bake this well, he could probably cook nicely, too.

He wasn't quite sure how, but Francis had somehow convinced Arthur to hang around for a while. Arthur turned down a glass of wine, simply delving into a glass of iced water instead. He had to drive later, so that was probably why, but the wrinkle of his nose when he declined made Alfred wonder if he also hated the taste of it.

As usual, he spent more time listening than talking. It wasn't boring though; Antonio and Francis took time to talk about their lives too, and getting to know them better like this was rather interesting. They were Gilbert's friends, and he seemed to like them a lot. Learning more about them was something he wanted to do. He got to hear stories of days long gone, and even Arthur, who had previously complained about how much he 'didn't want to be here', was playing along. But really, the best part was the laughing fits everyone seemed to be going through. There was really nothing better than seeing other people happy. Bonus points if it was people he cared about.

He had a mental checklist up and running by this point too of facts he figured would be important to remember.

Francis and Antonio shared Gilbert's age of twenty-six, though Arthur was a year younger than them. It was a bit intimidating when he thought about it: being so young. Suddenly twenty-three seemed like such a tiny number; even Ludwig was a year older than he was.

"So, Alfred, are you working right now?" Arthur asked him, and he felt his muscles tense a little as all eyes suddenly swept onto him. He used to love being in the spotlight; these days it just made him uncomfortable. Fighting the urge to disappear during moments like these was tough. "Or anything you like to do? Besides hanging out with this hooligan."

Arthur nodded in Gilbert's direction for clarification, earning an 'aw, fuck off' from the snow-haired man.

Alfred was quiet for a moment as he tried to formulate a response. Gilbert had been talking with his friends so much that they hadn't really asked him any questions about his life yet. He knew they would be coming eventually, but it had slowly slipped his mind and he hadn't even come up with answers yet.

He knew Arthur was just curious. Everyone else had been talking about their jobs so far, so he should've been expecting this question. But he hadn't. He had been so wrapped up in what everyone else had been saying. Listening to others talk about their lives was always better than talking about his own.

And what was he supposed to say? Everyone else had something going on and he didn't. Arthur owned the floral shop, Antonio was a nurse at the hospital a city over, Francis owned a bakery… Even Gilbert helped out every now and again, popping up at Ludwig's office to file paperwork when he was bored out of his mind.

"Ah, I… No, I'm not working right now," he finally replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't have a lot of hobbies, either, I guess? Video games are pretty cool but I don't play them a whole lot anymore. Hiking is nice but that's…kinda hard to do in New York City, so, I guess long walks are the closest thing to it."

"Gardening?" Arthur asked him, a hesitant smile crossing his face. "Do you like that?"

"Honestly, I… I haven't really done it before. I water my brother's stupid fern when he forgets about it, does that count? That's about it, really."

"Ah… You could've fooled me, I suppose." Arthur was still smiling as he drank his water. "You should look into doing it more, I think. You seemed really relaxed when you were digging around outside. You did pretty well, too, I think."

"Oh, um." Alfred's lightly tanned skin suddenly warmed a soft, warm pink. He didn't seem to notice the suspicious look Gilbert was suddenly shooting at him. "Thanks."

"No problem." Arthur's eyes practically twinkled. He checked his watch, a black simplistic one, before he sighed and set down his glass. "I should probably go. I have another order to finish before closing."

"Lame," Gilbert drawled, smirking as he easily dodged the couch cushion Arthur threw at him. "You should really hang out with us more."

"Why would I want to torture myself?" Arthur asked as he fluidly stood up, sighing. "I've been dealing with the shenanigans of you three for, what, twenty years now? That's long enough."

"Your math is awful. You can't include the years I was in the army, or the years after I moved away," Gilbert argued as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Close enough," Arthur countered with a simplistic wave of his hand. "Still one hell of a long time. And regardless, I've still known you lot for twenty years total, so."

"You two knock it off," Francis interjected as he rose to his feet. "You know you love us deep down. Now come on, let me walk you to your car."

"It's like fifty feet, I can handle it," Arthur argued, but didn't try to stop Francis from following him across the living room as he made his way towards the front door. He spun slightly on his heel, giving a bit of a wave with one hand. "Nice seeing you, Ludwig! And nice meeting you, Alfred."

He disappeared outside with Francis in tow.

"Rude… Didn't even give me a goodbye," Gilbert complained, noticeably pouting as he sank into the couch. Ludwig merely rolled his eyes in response.

"I thought he was really nice, overall, though," Alfred said quietly. He jumped a little as Gilbert suddenly busted out laughing into boisterous laughter. "What's so funny?"

"Arthur isn't nice. He's a huge pessimist and kind of an asshole. Trust me."

"Well, the pessimism thing is true…" Antonio added as he sighed. "But, I don't know… I wouldn't really agree with the rest of that. He's just kind of grumpy and impatient sometimes, in my opinion, especially around us, since we've all known each other for so long."

"He didn't seem like any of those things to me," Alfred combated, a puzzled look coming over his face.

"He's nice when he meets new people, obviously. Impressions, you know?" Gilbert let out a snort. "But seriously. He doesn't have the reputation around here for being a nice, sweet guy. That's pretty much Antonio's rep. But that's beside the point. He's kinda seen as this cranky guy who is hard to get along with for the most part. It's kinda weird, though. Growing up he was really chill and pleasant, like how he's acting towards you. He was like that all the time for the most part unless you did something to royally piss him off. But, like, after all the stuff that happened with his brother he just turned into this big Negative Nancy. As soon as someone starts to get too close it's like turns into a total prick to get them to back off. He doesn't really hang out with us anymore, either. I mean, we've always got on each other's nerves, even as kids, but… I don't know. It's like he avoids us most of the time on purpose. It kinda huts sometimes."

Brother? Arthur has a brother?

"Um… I know it's not really my business, but…" Alfred started awkwardly. "What do you mean? Like…'stuff' that happened with his brother?"

Gilbert blinked for a second in a puzzled manner before what little color he had in his cheeks drained right out.

"Oh, shit, I…" Gilbert roughly shook his head. "I can't tell you. I didn't even mean to say that, I just… It's not my story to tell. Just pretend I didn't mention that."

If that wasn't suspicious then Alfred didn't know what was. Gilbert was never one to get anxious about anything, let alone one to attempt to retract a statement. He was notorious for being blunt, no matter the situation, and he often wound up hurting feelings because of it unintentionally. So why…?

He didn't get a chance to ask. Francis came back inside, starting to chatter with Antonio about what to cook for dinner. The two of them vanished into the kitchen and Ludwig rose to his feet as well, starting to tidy up the living room by collecting his and Gilbert's mess of beer cans. He wandered into the kitchen and returned with a trash bag. Gilbert seemed to be biting his tongue, wanting to say something, as his brother cleaned up. And when Ludwig stepped outside to take out the trash, he swiveled around to face Alfred immediately.

"Don't bring that up around Arthur, okay?" At Alfred's nodding, Gilbert released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Good. There's one thing about Arthur I wanted to ask you about, though."

Alfred's head instantly tilted sideways in confusion.

"Do you like him?" Gilbert asked without hesitation. His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Like-like."

"_What_?" Alfred spluttered, composure instantly fraying. His face burned a bright red. "Why the hell are you even—"

"That's pretty close to the color you turned when he complimented you."

"I did _not _blush!"

"You completely, totally did! I saw you, you big fat liar!" Gilbert huffed. "You had such an easy time talking to him, too! You hardly even stuttered like you normally do and you kept the conversation going. You were actually really easy-going around him, Alfred…"

Alfred awkwardly avoided his gaze, suddenly feeling like he was backed into a corner. Gilbert's red eyes were suddenly twinkling.

"You totally like him, don't you?"

"I… I don't know… Maybe…" Alfred's voice was weak and lacked confidence entirely. He sheepishly looked down at his shoes. "Maybe a little bit…"

"I _knew _it!" Gilbert practically screeched before he seemed to realize how loud he was talking. He quieted himself, but his eyes still glimmered and Alfred was sure his tail would be wagging violently if he had one. "No wonder you were so calm when I told you he'd be hanging around us so often. New people usually give you the heebie-jeebies. Not judging, just saying."

"It's not even that. I just…" Alfred was wringing his hands together anxiously. "I don't know. It's like I'm not…so nervous around him, kinda like how I am with you most of the time, you know? It's just a bit different."

"Hmm… I think I know what you mean." Gilbert suddenly beamed at him, smile dazzling. "I'll have to make sure to drag him more places then so you can hang out with him more."

"Oh… No, I mean, you don't have to!" Alfred was scrambling to piece a sentence together, completely embarrassed now. "I, um…"

"Alfred… If you like him, even just a little bit, and if he keeps you calm, again, even just a little bit, the least I could do is try to pull some strings to see if you could talk to him a bit more or get to know him better, or _something_." Gilbert's smile didn't falter for a second. "You're my best friend. So if this has the potential to make you happy, then I'm damn well gonna play along. I'd do anything to see you happy again."

"You're seriously the best, Gil."

The man's face continued to light up in response to that.

"I know."

* * *

><p>Alfred accidentally came out to Gilbert during basic training, only a few weeks after they had first met. Gilbert had one of the biggest crushes on their drill sergeant, always bragging about how she 'obviously liked him back'. It was a painfully obvious one-sided crush though, and even Alfred could see that. He still wasn't sure what brought Gilbert to the conclusion that she liked him when all she did in response to his flirting was make him keep running until he almost puked. Not to mention it was surely frustrating to think you finished only to hear: 'another lap, Beilschmidt! Move it!'<p>

All Gilbert would do was wink in Alfred's direction and mouth 'she digs me' before running off on his own to complete his punishment.

One day, though, his secret just slipped out. He and Gilbert had been out on their morning run and Gilbert was prattling on about her again.

"_Héderváry is great, isn't she?"_

"_She's gonna snap your neck like a twig if she finds out you've been calling her that."_

"_Fine. Drill Sergeant is great, isn't she?" Gilbert muttered as he let out a snort. "It's not like she's gonna find out unless you snitch on me."_

"_I don't know, man, your mouth is pretty loud."_

"_What, and yours isn't?" Gilbert challenged, before he rolled his eyes. "Anyway, like I was saying earlier… Don't you think she's great? She's so cool!"_

"_I guess?" Alfred ventured, wiping the sweat from his face with the hem of his PT shirt as he jogged. "She's kinda strict."_

"_It's awesome, right? She's so pretty, and like, she'd probably be the type of girl to look good even when she's kicking someone's ass." He had the stupidest grin on his face and all Alfred could do was roll his eyes. "I want a girl like that, don't you?"_

"_Not really," Alfred replied as he shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, yeah, girls are pretty but I don't really want one in my life like that when I'm not interested."_

_The puzzled look Gilbert suddenly gave him was enough to make him realize how he had just royally messed up._

"_So you like boys?" Gilbert asked with a simple cock of his head._

"_Yeah, I… Fuck, I'm sorry. Please don't tell anyone I told you that." Alfred was the one rambling now. "Shit, I just… Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable—"_

"_Christ, Jones, I was just wondering. I'm not gonna tell anyone." Gilbert glanced over at him for a moment. "And why would this make me uncomfortable? We're friends, right? Friends don't judge for this kind of stuff."_

_Alfred was dumbfounded for a long moment. And then, slowly, his face warmed into a watery smile._

"_You're the best, Gilbert."_

"_Thank you, I know."_

Gilbert had actually been the first to know. After that happened he gathered more courage, and when he came home from his first tour overseas, he told Matthew. And once he started hanging around Gilbert during his time off, and spending time around Ludwig because of it, he eventually told him too. But they were the only three who knew. And it honestly meant the world to hear acceptance from those he dared to trust with that information.

Surely Arthur liked guys, right? Gilbert said Arthur and Francis were on the verge of dating when they were teens… And Gilbert wouldn't be willing to put in the effort to let him grow closer to someone that would only lead to a dead end, right? _Right?_

"Is something bothering you?"

Alfred snapped back to reality at the voice. His head swiveled a bit to look at Francis, who stood on the other end of the shopping cart, working on inspecting a carton of eggs. It was just the two of them; Francis had invited him to come along to the grocery store and Gilbert had practically shoved him out the front door. The guy was just too eager to have his friends all spending time together to get to know each other better.

"W-What do you mean?"

"Nothing, really," Francis replied coolly, putting the eggs into the cart before gingerly nudging Alfred aside to start pushing again. His bright blue eyes swayed onto Alfred's face casually. "Just wondering. You look like something is on your mind."

"I… Yeah, I guess so," Alfred mumbled weakly, not able to look the older man in the eye.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Francis inquired, a single eyebrow arching curiously. He suddenly smiled at Alfred warmly. "If you don't, though, that's okay too."

"Well, um…" Alfred started, awkwardly fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket. "It's kinda about Arthur?"

That seemed to spark Francis's attention.

"What about him?" he asked, instantly throwing a glance at Alfred over one shoulder, smile dissipating as he scowled suspiciously.

"N-Nothing bad, I swear!" Despite being noticeably bigger and taller than Francis, he raised his hands in front of himself in a defensive gesture. Gilbert had always teased him about being some type of gentle giant. Guess he wasn't lying. "It's just… Gilbert mentioned a few things and it's kinda been on my mind, you know?"

"Of course he did," Francis sighed out with a single shake of his head. "That man can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. I think he can keep a secret for about an hour, max. Regardless… What did he say that has made you so distraught?"

Truth be told it was about what Gilbert had briefly commented about Arthur's mysterious brother, and how he tried to backpedal after mentioning it, but he was certain bringing that up would not be a good idea. If it had the ability to make Gilbert so frazzled all of a sudden, surely talking about it so suddenly would be like walking out onto a minefield. So he decided to settle on the next best thing.

"When Gilbert mentioned that you and Arthur almost dated at some point," Alfred started cautiously, trying to pick his words carefully. Saying something offensive was the last thing he wanted to do. "Was that true? You guys don't really even seem like the pair to hook up with each other's type, you know? I know it isn't my business, but…"

"It was true," Francis replied easily, shrugging his shoulders as he sharply turned a corner and went onto a new aisle. "But I suppose you're right. We're pretty different from each other and we fight a lot, so… Arthur had changed a lot since then, though, I suppose. We probably fight more now than we did back then, but that's not the point. Why was that on your mind?"

What was he supposed to say? He couldn't give Francis the real reason…could he? He was one of Gilbert's friends, and the man always bragged about how cool his friends are, but… Could he trust Francis with this level of information? They had just met, for crying out loud.

"Are you interested in him?" Francis asked bluntly. Almost instantly, Alfred's tanned skin began to darken with an embarrassed blush. Francis laughed a bit, clapping an arm onto one of Alfred's thick arms. "I know that's pretty bold of me to ask, especially with us not knowing each other very well yet. You don't have to give me answers if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine. It's just… Gilbert mentioned he wants me to hang around Arthur more to get to know him better, but… I mean… Besides mentioning that you two almost dated, I didn't have any other details, and I just…didn't…?"

"Oh. Oh, no, I wasn't a special case, if that's what you're implying." Francis casually shrugged his shoulders, starting to smile. "Though, Alfred, you never really struck me as the kind of guy to be interested in that type."

"I could say the same about you, honestly," Alfred countered, blinking in surprise when Francis suddenly started to laugh. "What?"

"Nothing much. It's just that now I can see how you and Gilbert became friends. You're both a couple of smartasses." Francis chuckled. "Though I can tell that isn't your intention. Gilbert, however, that's a different story."

"You and Gilbert don't even seem to have a lot in common," Alfred commented quietly, absently picking a can off the shelf to study it a bit closer. "You two don't seem like the type to be friends."

"Can't argue with that," Francis sighed. "The three of us actually don't have a lot in common at all. I think we've known each other for so long now that I forgot how we even became friends to begin with. It doesn't really matter, though, I don't think."

Silence fell between them for a brief moment. There was something on his mind, still, and he wanted answers, even if he had to beat around the bush to get there.

"Hey, Francis?" Alfred started quietly. "Um… If you don't mind me asking…what was it that you liked in Arthur?"

"Hm. Well… He's actually pretty confident and very determined. Individualistic, too. He used to wear his heart on his sleeve and it was…really nice, honestly. He has such a big, warm heart in his chest. But he doesn't do that anymore." Francis sighed. "It's still the same heart inside of him, just…behind a lot of walls and fronts. He's changed a lot."

"Oh…" Alfred mumbled, mentally slapping himself. Oh? That was all he could come up with? "Um… Does Arthur like things like that, too?"

Francis looked at him in confusion for a brief moment before he let out a chuckle.

"What, are you trying to ask me if you're his type?" he laughed softly. "Probably. I mean, I know he likes blonde hair, so you already have that down pact. But besides physical attributes, even if he isn't fond of what you have, Alfred, I'm sure you have a shot. I still don't know you very well but from what I've seen, and from all the stories Gilbert has told Antonio and I, you seem like a very sweet young man. I'm sure Arthur would be interested in someone as kind as you."

"Thank you." Alfred started to blush almost instantly. He was horrible at accepting compliments, and they always made him flustered, but saying thank you with a tongue in his cheek seemed to work nicely. Then he seemed to pick up on something Francis said. "Wait, Gilbert talks about me?"

"Oh, yes, quite a bit. Antonio and I still kept in touch with him while he was enlisted. He'd sometimes send us a letter or get to call us every now and again so we knew he was okay. And after asking us how we were doing, and talking about what was going on with him, he'd always bring you up, somehow. He'd always brush off the negatives and just say things like 'I'm hanging in there I guess, but it's fine, I have this really cool new friend here! You'll have to meet him one day'. He'd say things like that.

"When he came home and had to have surgery for his leg, Antonio and I flew out to see him. And I'm not even exaggerating here, he was so doped up on medication he barely even knew who he was or where he was. So Antonio, Ludwig, and myself were just sitting around catching up while Gilbert took a nap, and he woke up _laughing_. So we were asking him what was going on; we figured it was just because he was high as a kite. But no. He said he remembered a joke that you told him. And he laughed so hard in his dream he woke himself up. He couldn't remember your name but we figured out who he was talking about."

"Oh…" Alfred said lamely, eyes wide with surprise. "I… I didn't know that. I didn't know about any of that…"

"Mm. I figured; he's not one to try to be all mushy around people." Francis shrugged his shoulders gently, still smiling. "But even so, he loves his friends, even if he won't tell you that to your face. If you get him drunk enough he might fess up to it, but you know what I meant. But yes, he talks about you quite a bit. I'm pretty sure he's just as attached to you as he is to us. Congratulations, there is no escape."

Francis suddenly eyed him slyly.

"Though I guess if you're looking into chasing after Arthur, it's good that you're used to it already. Arthur's even worse at saying he cares than Gilbert is." Francis rolled his eyes as he let out a small chuckle. "I'm not sure if he's looking into dating right now, since we never talk about those kinds of things anymore, but you could give it a try."

"What do you think I should do?" Alfred asked hesitantly, shyly fidgeting. "You know him a lot better than I do…"

"You have come to the right person. I'm obviously the biggest romantic out of the trio," Francis replied, posing in a rather overdramatic fashion. Alfred couldn't help but let out a snort. No wonder these guys were friends; they were all dorks. "But I guess the best step for you to take would be just to talk to him more and see where it goes. He loves his job, which I'm sure you must have noticed from how much he ran his mouth about flowers and pestering you about gardening. So I guess an easy route would be just to take that path. Oh, and he's typically down at his job, so I guess if you really wanted to get closer to him, rather quickly at that, you could always pop up at his work. He's been complaining that he has too much work and not enough assistance, so if you offered to help out, he would probably let you."

"I mean, I don't want to rush anything. I… I think I like him, it's just a little bit…"

"Yes, well, you can't really see how far it will go or anything until you give it a try, right?" Francis patted him on the back. "I'm a man of love, Alfred. I'm more than willing to help out in any way that I can. Plus, I think Arthur would benefit quite a bit from being around you. He seemed to be really easygoing around you, and I haven't seen that in a long time. It may have been just to impress you, it may not have been, I'm not sure. But either way, I haven't seen that side of Arthur in a while. Maybe you can keep that side of him out a bit more. Plus, well… Gilbert told us you're going through a hard time. And I know that it is not my business, and I probably shouldn't have brought it up, but… Well, if this is the type of change you want in your life, if this is something that could cheer you up a little, then I'm more than willing to help."

"That's…kind of what Gilbert told me, too," Alfred said weakly.

"I said we didn't have a whole lot in common." Much to his surprise, Francis shot him a grin before winking in his direction. "I never said we didn't have _anything _in common, now, did I?"

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: End<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hey, sorry this took so long. I've had a lot going on lately (and been going through a lot), so...yeah, here we are, I guess. But anyway, I know you didn't come to hear the details of my personal life, so I hope you enjoy! Hopefully the next update won't take so long.

* * *

><p>They were a bit low on space, so sleeping arrangements were a little difficult. Antonio and Francis usually slept in separate bedrooms, and there was an extra guestroom. But with there being three extras guests in their home, they had to do a bit of rearranging. Antonio decided to move into Francis's bedroom during their stay to provide more space for them. Neither of them seemed to care, though; Alfred figured twenty years of knowing each other easily made them comfortable enough to do something so simplistic as to share a bed at night.<p>

Gilbert and Ludwig shared Antonio's room; the bed was easily big enough to provide enough space for two people. Alfred stayed in the guestroom by himself. The bed there was a lot smaller, but there was still plenty of room for him. Honestly, he wasn't used to having so much space to himself. This house was much bigger than Matthew's little apartment, and he was accustomed to sharing the bed with his brother, as well. Having so much room in the bed, and being there by himself, it was actually really strange.

He actually didn't jerk awake in the middle of the night from nightmares or anxiety attacks. That was the first time that had happened in literally weeks. He actually slept well, and through the night completely, but wound up rising grossly early. The sun had yet to rise, and judging by how quiet the house was when he got out of bed, he figured no one else was up yet.

But much to his surprise, there was light peeking out from underneath the closed door of the bathroom. He cast a quick glance down the hall, checking the bedroom doors. The door to Francis's room was shut. However, Antonio's bedroom door was open, and Alfred could hear Gilbert's loud, characteristic snoring inside the dark room.

Before he had another moment to think about it, the bathroom door quietly popped open, and Ludwig stepped out into the hall. They nearly bumped into each other, and Alfred quickly took a step back to give the man a bit more space.

"Oh, good morning." Ludwig's voice still sounded thick with sleep. His blonde hair, which Alfred noticed was usually slicked back, was still hanging into his eyes. He was still wearing his pajamas, which was nothing more than a black tank top and a pair of shorts.

"Morning," Alfred replied, reaching underneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. "You're up early. I know Gilbert says you're an early bird but it's not even dawn."

"My brother's snoring is enough to wake the dead." Ludwig let out a bit of a snort and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the bedroom door.

"I know the feeling," Alfred agreed, starting to walk into the bathroom. "We could switch rooms, if you want. I wouldn't care. His snoring doesn't bother me too much anymore."

"No, it's fine," Ludwig said sleepily, wandering off to give him some privacy. "But thank you."

He planned on going on his morning jog, so he didn't bother to shower just yet. After getting dressed, he wandered into the kitchen to find Ludwig making coffee. The taller man wordlessly poured a cup and handed it over to him, in which Alfred accepted, mumbling a thank you.

Ludwig looked at him quizzically for a moment, and Alfred realized how out of place he probably looked in his battered t-shirt and a pair of running shorts.

"Morning run," he said quietly, eyes briefly closing in bliss as he sipped at the hot drink. He wasn't sure what brand this was, but it was amazing. He would have to inquire about it; maybe if he got lucky he could convince Matthew to start buying it. He leaned absently against the countertop, staring down at the dark liquid, before an idea slowly dawned on him. He looked over at Ludwig. "Did you want to come along?"

He honestly hadn't spent a whole lot of time alone with Ludwig over the few years that he had known him. He had first met him through Gilbert after their first tour. After that, he had really only ran into Ludwig whenever he was around Gilbert.

But that wouldn't stop him from asking. Gilbert was always mentioning how 'his best friend and his baby brother' should spend more time together to get to know each other better. Alfred didn't have very many friends, and he wasn't too sure if Ludwig did either. They were both just too quiet and a bit standoffish for it, it seemed like. They got along pretty well, but… Well, they just haven't spent a whole lot of time in each other's company like this.

But this was a good idea, right? Ludwig was taller than Alfred and Gilbert, and easily much wider than the both of them as well. It was obvious he worked out a lot; nearly all of him was muscle. So a morning run was probably something he would be interested in. At least Alfred hoped so. He felt a rush of relief in his veins that he hadn't been expecting when Ludwig's normally cold facial features softened somewhat as the hint of a smile passed his lips.

"Sure." Ludwig's wide shoulders moved a bit in a small shrug. "I guess it would work out a bit better this way, too. You can go out of the range of the house a bit further without having to worry about getting lost. I can show you a few paths that are a bit more challenging, if you'd like."

"That would work," Alfred replied, nodding a bit as he worked on finishing up his coffee. "It's been a while since I went uphill or anything like that. Been spending too much time running near the apartment, and that's flat as ever."

"I can understand that," Ludwig agreed quietly, seeming much more awake by now. He wandered off to get changed, and Alfred finished up his coffee during the man's absence. Ludwig spoke again as he trailed back into the kitchen. "On the way back I can take you through downtown. It's nothing in comparison to New York, and probably only has twenty buildings, but it's all we have, I suppose."

"Sounds good."

They didn't bother bringing anything along. If they came back and no one was awake, and were locked out of the house, Ludwig mentioned they had a spare hidden outside they could use.

He actually hadn't gone running with another person since the army days. He and Gilbert used to go running nearly every day together. But after everything that happened, and with Gilbert still trying to entirely recover from his amputation, those days had passed quite a while ago. Needless to say going jogging with another person at his side felt a bit weird. It wasn't bad, just a little strange.

They didn't talk a whole lot, but that wasn't surprising. Neither of them talked a whole lot to begin with, and adding running into the equation only made it a little more complicated. The world around them was quiet, and the sky was starting to turn slightly pink with sunrise. The sky here seemed so much different than the sky of New York. He could easily see so much of it without buildings being in the way, and at night, the stars glittered visibly over his head like little white gems.

He had only been here for a small time so far and he already felt a little attached to this little town.

True to his word, Ludwig took them jogging through what he called 'downtown' on their way back to the house. And, again, true to his word, it was pathetically tiny. They slowed down to a walk because if they were to run through it, it would probably all be gone in an instant. Ludwig took the time to point everything out to him.

"Bank, barber shop… I think the phone company has the building here now. I'm not sure, everything there keeps going out of business," he said, before pointing across the street. "Francis's bakery is that white building. The next few are all health things; there's an optometrist and a dentist over that way if my memory serves me right. Arthur's floral shop is this one right over here."

Alfred paused for a second to glance into the large window as they walked by. It wasn't open yet, of course, so the lights were off, but he could see a little bit due to the rising sun. All he could see was flowers. His nose itched just looking at it.

Ludwig had kept walking without noticing that he had fallen behind, so he was quick to get moving again before the man got too far ahead of him.

The last mile or so was all downhill, which Alfred was rather thankful for, considering the beginning of the path was up a hill so sharp he thought he was going to die climbing it. He jogged quietly alongside Ludwig, the two of them silent except for the rhythmic sound of their sneakers hitting the pavement.

Maybe it was because he didn't spend a lot of time alone with Ludwig that he was convinced to try to start a conversation.

"Did you spend a lot of time with Antonio and Francis, too, when you were here?" he asked, noticing how Ludwig peered over at him in confusion. "I know Gilbert was around them a lot, so…"

"I suppose so. Like you said, my brother spent a lot of time with them when we lived here. They've always been really close, to the best of my memory. They have times when they squabble like children but I don't really think I've seen them legitimately fight." Ludwig shrugged. "But I spent a lot of time hanging around my brother when we were growing up. I guess because of that I hung out with the other two a lot, too. My brother always wanted me to hang out with his friends. He always invited me along whenever they had plans. And when we walked to school, I was always walking with them, so there was that. I guess in a way they were kind of my friends too, but I was never as close to them as Gilbert was."

"I can understand that. It was kind of weird whenever I tried to hang out with Matthew's friends when we were growing up. They were nice enough, but it was just… I don't know. It felt like there some weird barrier thing going on, you know what I mean? Like, you could just tell you weren't on the same level with them in comparison."

"Basically," Ludwig replied simply, before he released a sigh through his nose. "Then again, when I look back on it, it may have been a good thing I wasn't too close to them. Those three aren't exactly the best influence when they're together."

"Gilbert on his own isn't a good influence."

"I can't exactly argue with you on that one." Ludwig let out a curt, sharp laugh. "But he means well. They all do."

"…Yeah," Alfred murmured, his throat suddenly feeling dry.

His head wasn't cooperating anymore. For a moment all he could think about was his conversation with Francis, about how the man was trying to push him forward to chase after a person, about how he wanted him to be happy. And his mind wrapped around that nearly similar conversation with Gilbert, and for a moment, all he could picture was his friend's face grinning back at him.

And nearly just as quick it changed before him, Gilbert's face suddenly dirty and sweating as it loomed over him, his frame trembling as he shielded Alfred's body with his own against the downpour of debris and gunfire. He could still feel his hand being crushed in Gilbert's own as they became surrounded by medics. Skin filthy, uniforms dirty and bloody, hair drenched in sweat. Gilbert's head suddenly tossing backwards and into Alfred's shoulder for extra support as he screamed at the top of his lungs out of pure agony until he went hoarse, and even in the heat of a desert, Alfred's skin tingled with goose bumps.

"Alfred." One of Ludwig's hands suddenly clasped down on the man's shoulder, making Alfred jump. He looked up, not having realized he had stopped running and had glued his eyes to the pavement. Ludwig stared back at him, not releasing his grip just yet. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Alfred's voice practically came out as a croak. He was blinking faster, the telltale signs of crying starting to sneak up on him, and he fought back as hard as he could. "I'm fine."

But, honestly, he couldn't remember the last time he had said those words and actually meant them.

* * *

><p>He had to admit, he spent a bit more time trying to get dressed than he meant to originally. He couldn't really decide on what to wear. Casual clothing probably would have been fine, but he didn't want to look too relaxed. And yet, he didn't want to look too professional either. He had been standing there for well over twenty minutes after taking his shower, just staring at the clothing he had set out on his bed, when Gilbert's face appeared in the doorway.<p>

"Francis made breakfast," he announced, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. He looked like he had made an attempt to fix his hair but had given up halfway through, snowy fibers still askew atop his head. Alfred grunted in reply, but Gilbert remained fixated in one spot, simply watching his friend struggle, Alfred's gaze shifting back and forth between two different shirts. Gilbert felt his lips twitch into a smile and before he knew it, he was laughing. "Al, it's just a shirt. Just pick something. It's not like you're going on a date or anything."

Alfred flushed a little, waving a hand in Gilbert's direction, as if to motion for him to leave. The man simply let out a laugh before he wandered out of the room. Alfred sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose with one hand. Well, he supposed the man wasn't wrong. But, if impressions were important to Arthur, it was probably for the best to make a good one.

As good as Francis's cooking was, he still couldn't bring himself to eat a whole lot. Gilbert's appetite was big enough to support the both of them either way, so what he wasted, his friend ate without a moment's hesitation. It wasn't gross that his friend ate his scraps; they had known each other long enough and had gone through so much together that something as simple as drinking after each other or eating off each other's plates didn't bother them. What grossed him out was how Gilbert could possibly eat so much food in one sitting.

Gilbert offered to escort him to downtown, both to make sure he didn't get lost – browsing the area only once was not enough for it to be imprinted completely in Alfred's brain – and also because of 'things he needed to get done' in the same area.

Knowing Gilbert, it was probably just an excuse to spy on him while he was inside talking to Arthur and see how things played out from a safe distance.

But either way, even with how much his friend chattered on the journey there, Gilbert let him enter the florist shop in peace, and told him to give a call on his phone whenever he was ready to walk back home.

Entering the vicinity made a small bell ring over his head, and the scent of flowers brought a sneeze from him instantly. He groaned quietly, rubbing his nose with the back of one hand. He took a few steps forward, letting the door close behind him as he took a look around. Rows upon rows of various vases and plants filled his vision, the world around him suddenly bursting to life with color. There was a bit of empty wall space near the door, where Alfred noticed a thin, small shelf, with hooks installed upon the bottom. He could see quite a few tools and materials hung up, though others sat atop the shelf, such as the bright blue watering can and a small basket filled with packages of seeds. There was a simplistic brown broom propped up in the corner.

There was an enormous counter near the back of the building, serving as a barrier for a second doorway, which seemed to, strangely enough, not have a door on its hinges. The only cover it had was a very thin sheet hanging over the gap, suspended in place by what Alfred assumed was a couple of nails in the wall.

After absently wiping his feet on the mat, Alfred wandered in before standing hesitantly in front of the counter. It came up a bit past his waist, but with him being taller than Arthur, it probably just seemed shorter to him. There was a little black register set up on one end of the counter. Alfred also noticed a calendar and a notebook spread out beside it, accompanied by an abandoned ink pen. There were a few trimmed stems and leaves the countertop that hadn't been thrown in the trash just yet.

Arthur must have been hiding in the back room. Still, it was a bit weird that he hadn't come out or even spoke that he would be out when Alfred's entrance made the bell chime. There was no bell to ring on the counter, so Alfred was tempted just to call out to make his presence known, until he heard something that sounded like voices. They were extremely quiet, however. His hearing may have been damaged from war, so it wasn't as good as it used to be, but hell, it was like whispers. He was straining violently to hear properly.

"…said I'd get it to you as soon as I could."

"I'm getting tired of waiting."

"I'm trying my best." Alfred was struggling to understand, but that sounded a lot like Arthur's voice, and it sounded strained with emotion. "Business has been slow, and I—"

"I didn't ask you for excuses. You'd better have something worth my time the next time I'm here, you got that?"

Before another word could be spoken, the sheet was suddenly yanked to one side, caught in one large hand. Out from the back room emerged an extremely large man, taller than himself and equipped with large, bulky shoulders. His hair, cut short, was a blonde so light it almost looked white, and his skin, though mostly hidden underneath various layers of clothes, was grossly pale. After edging out from the back room the man lumbered behind the counter, and it was then that they locked gazes. This man's eyes vaguely reminded him of Matthew's eyes, though lighter in color. The man had stopped moving now and was simply staring at him with a rather cold, calculating expression.

"What are you staring at?" Alfred challenged suddenly. He may have had plenty of issues to work out, but he was no coward.

The man's eyes narrowed at him for a moment. He pushed at the same door at one end of the counter to step out from behind it, proceeding to bridge the gap between him and Alfred. This man was taller than Ludwig was, and with their close distance, Alfred could also tell he was much bigger than the German as well.

"Looks to me like a little rat who doesn't know his place," the man replied fluidly, words coming out like acid, thick with an accent Alfred couldn't quite put his finger on.

"And I'm looking at a prick, what's your point?"

The man drew even closer at that. Alfred could have sworn he could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over him. The man was like a giant compared to him, and yet, Alfred felt no fear. The man's eyes were cold, almost like ice, and Alfred merely glared back at him, body and eyes made of steel. Situations like these, people like these, did not intimidate him. He had been through too much to be swayed by any of it. He had dealt with people screaming in his face throughout his years in the military; having some guy he didn't even know getting into his bubble was not even enough to make him flinch.

"You'd better learn your place," the man hissed at him. His hands clenched at his sides, as if fighting the urge to grab hold of Alfred.

"Or what?" Alfred spat back, blue eyes unblinking. "I'm not scared of you. Now get out of my face."

The stranger backed off, which Alfred hadn't really been expecting. He made a move to head for the door, though he bumped roughly into Alfred on purpose on his way there. Alfred remained stationary for a long moment, listening to the man's loud footsteps, and only let himself breathe when he heard the slamming of the main door to the shop.

For a few moments, there was nothing but silence. Finally, the sheet guarding the doorway proceeded to rustle slightly, before Arthur's body slinked out from behind it. The man paused, however, upon spotting Alfred standing there in front of the counter.

"Alfred?" A look of alarm crossed his face in an instant. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough," Alfred answered simplistically, watching Arthur's cheeks flush lightly with what he assumed was embarrassment. "I'm kind of surprised you didn't know I was here. You couldn't hear me from back there?"

"Not really, no," Arthur replied.

Alfred wasn't sure if that was the truth or if Arthur was just using that as an excuse as to why he hadn't come out of his back room until that guy left the premises.

Arthur came closer to the counter, and Alfred stood there quietly, surveying him underneath blond lashes. Arthur fumbled around for a second, though he just seemed to be trying to make himself appear busy, not really accomplishing anything. After wiping his counter down, Alfred noticed how he was suddenly unrolling the sleeves of his button-up, as if trying to hide his skin from sight.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Arthur spoke again.

"Is there something you needed, Alfred?"

The sweet demeanor Alfred was used to seeing so far seemed to have evaporated. Is this what Gilbert had been talking about? A part of him wanted to laugh. If anything, Arthur just seemed upset. He wasn't sure if this was what the others had been referring to, but it didn't seem like anything serious to him. Didn't most people act this way when they were frightened or distressed in some way? And after having some guy practically corner him in the back room of his shop, being distraught was a normal reaction.

Maybe his friends were referring to Arthur acting similar to this majority of the time and not just during times like this.

"I actually, um…" He felt his confidence starting to fray. "Well. I kinda wanted to check out the place, after you mentioned it… That and the others said you really like your job so I thought it'd be interesting to try to check out."

He wanted to see Arthur, too, but best not mention that.

"You didn't pick the best time to visit," Arthur said rather dryly, barely even looking at him as he worked on wiping up tiny chunks of stems from his counter.

Well, shit. This wasn't going anywhere close to what he had originally planned.

"Yeah, I noticed…" Alfred replied quietly, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. The air between them was suddenly thick and heavy with a tension that made Alfred feel like he was practically choking all of a sudden. He cleared his throat. "Did… Did you want help with anything?"

Arthur paused entirely, lifting his head to stare at him quizzically, thick eyebrows furrowing over green eyes. It looked a lot like Gilbert's trademark 'are you stupid' look he obtained during conversations. Finally, the man sighed and went back to cleaning off his counter.

"Bring me the vase of roses I left in the back room," Arthur mumbled as he started laying out scissors and other supplies. "I need to finish that order."

So he did. He wandered behind the counter and carefully swiped at the sheet so he could set foot into the back room. He found the vase of red roses abandoned on a shelf near the entranceway. Arthur must have been carrying them before that guy popped up in the shop.

Alfred didn't really take the time to look around. He simply grabbed the vase and carefully carried it back out to where Arthur was waiting. Mentally he was just hoping his arm and fingers would cooperate and he wouldn't wind up dropping it.

Thankfully, there were no incidents. Alfred brought the vase of red, red flowers out to Arthur and set it down gently, before backing up enough to give the man proper breathing space. He wandered back out to the main area of the shop when Arthur suddenly spoke.

"I should probably apologize to you for not being very talkative today," he muttered, face emotionless as he started picking at dying leaves. "Especially since you came all the way here just to see me… I'm sure me acting like this isn't really what you were expecting, or really wanted to deal with today."

"Honestly… Well, from what I've heard so far, this was a lot better than I was expecting."

"What did Gilbert tell you, then?"

"N-Nothing!" Alfred stuttered, quickly trying to backpedal. Arthur barely even blinked, not looking up at him, though. "N-Not that it was him or anything, I—"

"You're not going to hurt my feelings or anything if you tell me, you know," Arthur interrupted, shrugging. "I have thicker skin than that. And I know it was Gilbert; the guy doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut most of the time. Antonio doesn't like to talk trash very much unless he's really pissed off, and Francis is typically one of those who acts like he sees the best in everyone until you get him drunk. _Then _you see what he's really like."

"He basically just told me you're in a bad mood most of the time," Alfred said honestly, though his cheeks were warming with embarrassment.

"He's not exactly wrong," Arthur replied, edges of his mouth twitching like a bit of a smile.

"So… You _are _usually in a bad mood?" Alfred asked hesitantly, leaning against the counter. This whole conversation suddenly felt really odd. "But you were so nice to me when I met you. Was that a one time thing?"

"There aren't a whole lot of reasons to be in a good one, so, yes, usually I'm like this." Arthur shrugged absently. "And of course I was nice to you. I had no reason not to be. I hope to be in a good mood around you again, sure, but things happen."

"I can understand that." And that was the truth. He had days where he felt trickles of life trying to flow inside his veins again, days where the anxiety was nothing more than a shadow following him around, and those were the days he actually loved living. Unfortunately, they were not common in the slightest. He inhaled sharply and decided to ask before he could change his mind. "Do these 'things' you're talking about have something to do with that guy that was in here earlier bothering you?"

"He was here on business." Arthur's cheeks suddenly burned a bright red in what looked like anger, judging from how his large eyebrows suddenly furrowed tightly over his eyes.

"Really?" Alfred asked, his voice filled with doubt as he tucked his hands casually into his pockets. Arthur seemed to be stumbling on his thoughts, face showing he was struggling to come up with answers. Alfred didn't give him a chance. "Is he hurting you?"

"What the hell? _No,_" Arthur answered, voice suddenly growing defensive. "Either way, it isn't really any of your business."

"Yeah, probably not," Alfred replied with a surprising amount of ease. Even during conversations like these, for whatever reason, talking to Arthur was not hard. He wasn't so anxious. He didn't really stumble over his words so much. "But… Even so, simply standing around isn't really my style. I've dealt with enough evil in this world already; letting more of it simply stew isn't something I want."

"Look. Alfred, I understand you want to help, but this isn't something you can solve, alright? This isn't the army, this isn't a war zone, and this isn't battle. Gilbert told me enough about the adventures you two went on, and trust me, this isn't the same." Arthur waved his hand in Alfred's direction a little. "Ivan is not 'evil', alright? Don't slap labels on things you know nothing about, let alone something you took out of context."

Before Alfred even had the chance to open his mouth, Arthur kept talking.

"Now isn't a good time, to be honest. I'm not really in the mood for chitchat." Arthur then firmly put his head down to resume working. "I'll see you later, Alfred."

If that wasn't a cue to leave, he wasn't sure what was.

The next thing he knew he was standing outside with his phone trying to get a hold of Gilbert, and his heart felt a bit like a rock in his chest.

This definitely was not going according to plan.

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><p>Chapter 5: End<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Welcome back! I hope you all had a good holiday season. Thank you again to all my lovely reviewers! You're what keeps me going, honestly. Glad to hear you're enjoying the fic!

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><p>"What do you mean he didn't want to talk to you?" Gilbert asked in disbelief, a large spoonful of ice cream halting halfway from his mouth.<p>

Alfred squirmed a little on his off-green plastic chair, legs shifting as he struggled to find a comfortable sitting position. It was still morning, and the air was slightly chilled from a combination of the season of autumn and a high cover of thick trees. He scooted his chair out of the shade a little and into the soft glow of sunlight that was falling on the patio. He shivered, feeling a bit jealous suddenly of Gilbert, who was wrapped up in a tacky yellow sweatshirt.

"Yeah," Alfred finally replied, shrugging his shoulders a little. He picked at the small bit of vanilla ice cream in his cup around with a plastic spoon. "I… Well, he already was in a bad mood; I think I only made it worse."

"I told you before, he's typically all pissy," Gilbert said simply as he crammed the spoon into his mouth.

Alfred absently wrinkled his nose. How anyone could eat this much ice cream at once was beyond him, especially after just eating breakfast.

"Well, no… I don't think he's like that on his own," Alfred said honestly after a moment, staring down into his cup. He frowned as Gilbert let out an amused snort in response. "I'm serious."

"When aren't you?" Gilbert asked rhetorically, chuckling in amusement. Alfred threw a glare in his direction, and Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Joking. Okay, but really, what makes you say that? You hardly know him. This isn't one of those 'blinded by puppy love' moments, is it?"

"It's hardly even a crush, but that's not the point. I just… I don't know. We talked a little and there are a few hints he dropped that just makes me think there are things going on in his life that are making him act this way. He just sounds unhappy to me."

"Your circumstances do not excuse shitty behavior, Al," Gilbert replied dully.

"I know, I know. I just… Well, it's like, even if it turns out he's not even interested in a guy like me, I still feel like I need to do something." He shrugged gently. "I feel like I just…need to at least try to help him. I barely know him, but… I guess I just feel bad for him, even if I'm not completely sure as to what's going on in his life. I…know what it's like to be suffering, so… I don't like seeing people going through things like this."

"Alright," Gilbert said, reclining back into his seat, staring back at his friend with a serious expression on his face. It looked rather out of place, considering Gilbert's facial features were usually bright with energy. "I don't think you really know what you're getting yourself into, but I'll play along here. Hints about what?"

"I'm not one hundred percent sure of what he was referring to, but it left a really bad taste in my mouth, you know? He flat out told me there's not much to be happy about. That, and there was this guy in the shop who seemed to be bothering him. I'm not sure what they were talking about, either, but the guy was just…really in Arthur's bubble. I think it scared him a little."

"Who was it?" Gilbert asked, now not sounding too interested in what his friend was saying. He grew bored rather easily, and Alfred was aware of this, so he wasn't too surprised by the sudden lack of enthusiasm.

"I think his name was Ivan."

Now Gilbert looked up as he was in the process of licking bright pink ice cream away from a corner of his mouth, spoon halting in midair for the second time that day. For a brief moment, the snowy-haired man was speechless, which was a rarity in itself. It didn't last long, though.

"Are you serious?" he asked rhetorically, reddish eyes opening wider in surprise. "Did he say anything to you?"

"He was giving me the stink eye, so I said something to him first. Why?" Alfred inquired, an eyebrow quirking as he spoke. "Do you know him?"

"Of course I know him. Everyone here knows each other, remember?" After shoving the spoon back into his ice cream, he pulled his fingers through his messy bangs. "I'm just…surprised, I guess. Ivan went to high school with us, but none of were close to him. I don't really know what happened, and…well, I'm probably not supposed to tell you this… Arthur would strangle me if he found out I told you anything about his personal life. But, well, after some of the drama that went down right before I moved to New York, Arthur and Ivan suddenly grew really buddy-buddy with each other."

Alfred actually looked disappointed. "Buddy-buddy?"

"No, not like that! Not in the whole, like, make out with me, date me, kind of way. I mean, they suddenly just started spending a lot of time in each other's company and communicating with each other, which was strange, considering that they weren't even friends before all that. Hell, you could barely even consider them acquaintances.

"It's even weirder to hear that they're still communicating, especially since Antonio and Francis apparently don't know about it either. They would've told me about it, because that's definitely some interesting news. It's just…really, really odd. The whole thing."

Alfred hummed for a second in thought. "I'm assuming you were never good friends with him?"

"No way!" Gilbert's face morphed in an instant to that of an exaggerated pout. He shoved the spoon back into his mouth and slumped down into his plastic chair. The whole image reminded Alfred of a child not getting their way. "I don't like him. Being around him makes me wanna puke blood everywhere."

"Isn't that a little extreme?" Alfred asked.

"You've known me for long enough; you've gotta be aware by now of the fact that my entire lifestyle is 'go big or go home'," Gilbert muttered, grin starting to tug at his lips again. "That includes helping out a buddy. I can't be of much assistance when it comes to cracking whatever case you're rambling on about, but I'm here for anything else you need, yeah? That includes pulling whatever strings I can to make your little hookup a reality. Love doctor Beilschmidt at your service."

Alfred's lips parted as if he was going to speak, but before he could utter a single sound, Gilbert suddenly shot up in his seat, face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"Once this is all said and done, you _so _owe me." Gilbert's eyes sparkled just as bright as his smile did. "You should totally help me find a girlfriend."

Alfred mutely stared at him for a long moment, before he let out a snort through his nose, and one corner of his mouth tugged into a lopsided smirk.

"We haven't even made any progress yet, but alright," Alfred replied, before lifting a finger and proceeded to point it at his friend. "But either way, I highly doubt you're going to find a girlfriend wearing something that ugly."

"How _could _you," Gilbert said in a voice that was a smidge too overdramatic for Alfred to take seriously. He clutched a hand over his heart, and therefore, over a large sewn on patch of a bird. "My brother gave me this!"

"Then his fashion sense much be just as bad as yours, though I didn't think anyone could possibly be able to rival you in that aspect."

Gilbert slugged him in the arm at that one.

"Smartass."

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><p>He didn't give up so easily. He had learned that habit when he was a kid. His mother had always told him he had inherited the stubbornness of his father. Being in the army had only stamped it further into his brain that quitting was not an option. So he didn't. He didn't give up.<p>

He started a routine, actually. He would wake up early like usual, start some coffee, and wait for Ludwig to get up before they would go out for their run. Soon enough the jog up the hill wasn't tough in comparison to the first day, and on top of that, talking with Ludwig became easier.

Despite being Gilbert's younger brother, Ludwig was practically the polar opposite of him in terms of personality. The two of them both had tics regarding order and cleanliness, but besides that, there weren't a whole lot of similarities. Gilbert was outgoing while Ludwig was more introverted. Gilbert radiated warmth and under his fronts, he was rather sensitive. Ludwig's honest behavior sometimes made him seem rather judgmental and cold. Two brothers, but two very different sides of a coin.

He knew, though, that somewhere underneath Ludwig's stoic, somewhat cold and awkward mannerisms, there was a bit of warmth and softness flowing in his veins that mirrored that of his big brother.

And really, cracking open the shell to find those hidden spots felt highly rewarding. Ludwig was often equipped with rather angry-looking expressions by default, and his tone was often rather gruff without intention. Prying a smile out of him or managing to make him laugh made Alfred feel…well, great.

He vaguely wondered if Gilbert felt the same way about him whenever he managed to make Alfred smile upon occasion.

After the run and eating breakfast, he would walk back downtown and pop by Arthur's floral shop. Every day it was at the same time. Every day, things repeated in the same fashion.

The second day at Arthur's was pretty similar to the first. Arthur seemed just as cranky as he worked on a bouquet, barely talking, let alone looking at him. The day after that Arthur's mood had not changed a bit, though they did manage to have a decently long chunk of conversation. It may have been about how Arthur's fingers were wrapped up in Band-Aids from having cut them on some rose thorns, but hey, it was a conversation.

It was the day after that when Arthur actually spoke first when Alfred stepped inside the door.

"You may as well be working here, as often as you come by," Arthur said loudly to be heard over the chiming of the overhead bell hung from the main door. He lifted his head to look Alfred square in the eye. "If you wanted an application, all you had to do was ask."

"I'd take the job if you offered it to me," Alfred said honestly as he walked up to the counter. He casually leaned upon it with one forearm. "Though I'm not sure of how much help I'd be, seeing that I'm only here for another week or so. Either way, I… Uh, well, I'm here to see _you_, so…"

His eyesight may not have been as good as it used to be, but he was certain Arthur's cheeks reddened in response to that.

"For what?" Arthur finally asked him, and for a moment, the aggressive nature Alfred had run into the past few days evaporated. Arthur set down his scissors, palms splaying over the countertop, and his eyes firmly locked onto Alfred's. "Why?"

He had yet to experience this level of eye contact with Arthur just yet, and he wasn't quite sure that he liked it. Arthur had beautiful eyes, and Alfred loved them. They were a stunning shade of green and he loved how bright they were. They were so easy to get lost in, and he liked that a lot, too. But this new level of closeness was bringing out the smallest of details that Alfred had not noticed before.

Arthur's eyes looked extraordinarily tired. Dark circles were smeared beneath them, thin lines stippling their way into his skin, as if stress and sleeplessness were already aging him at such an early stage of life.

And really, being the king of insomniacs, Alfred knew how detrimental tiredness could be.

"Honestly? Because the guy who stopped by the house and was so nice to me really caught my attention," Alfred finally replied. "And it's…kinda disappointing that so far it seems like that guy who was so friendly has been lost to someone so abrasive."

Arthur was quiet for a moment before he exhaled slowly, breaking eye contact with Alfred entirely, and let his gaze fall back onto the flowers before him.

"I'm sure Gilbert or one of those other goofballs told you about me already. Surely they must have gone into detail about my personality, at the very least. And therefore, you should have already known about how I am."

"You're missing the point," Alfred said with a bit more force in his voice now. "What they told me doesn't matter. I had a chance to meet you on my own time, and therefore, I'm able to formulate my own opinions about you, am I not? Whether or not my friends think you're uptight or grumpy or whatever adjective you wanna use, it doesn't mean that I feel the same way that they do."

He placed both palms on the counter, leaning forward, and he could have sworn Arthur seemed to shrink under his gaze.

"And, well, I really don't think you want to act this way around people. I don't think you're this grumpy on your own. I may not know you very well yet, if at all, but I think something is bothering you. Because, honestly, if you were naturally nasty, if you were naturally grumpy and hateful, you wouldn't have bothered to try to be nice to me when you first met me like you did. You wouldn't have cared less if you were rude to me or not. I think this whole behavior is nothing but a front, and even though I don't know much about you, Arthur, it bothers me a lot."

"Why does it matter to you what I do?" Arthur challenged. The aggressive tone was so sudden, as if a switch had been flipped somewhere. The shorter man practically glared up at him, thick eyebrows furrowing over those bright but tired eyes of his. "You just said you barely know me."

There were a lot of reasons, if he was being honest with himself, but none of those were appropriate to tell Arthur. Admitting his bit of a crush on the man would be awkward, and probably only creep him out. The only thing he could think of to talk about was the suffering. Alfred was suffering enough on his own; watching others around him undergo any type of pain was not something he wanted to witness.

"It's probably going to sound weird when I tell you, so I hope it doesn't give you any odd vibes about me or anything." Alfred slowly took his weight off the countertop, a hand absently rubbing at his arm. The numbness was creeping up on him today. Great. Just what he wanted to deal with. "It's just… I don't know how much Gilbert has told you about me, since you guys obviously aren't too close or anything. I know Gilbert told Francis and Antonio about me; whether or not they spread info about me, I don't know. It doesn't matter. That's not the point. It's just…a lot happened after I met Gilbert."

"Such as…?" Arthur started slowly, seeming more confused than anything. His face slowly relaxed however as the aggressive attitude proceeded to slowly drain out of him, leaving behind a genuinely perplexed expression on his face. "Do you want me to be honest with you? I have heard next to nothing about you from them."

Oh, boy. This was going to be even more difficult than he thought.

"Long story short, a lot of things happened. Not a whole lot of good things have occurred since I met Gilbert. Things went down the drain faster than I could keep up with. Things happened to those we knew. Things happened to us." He tried to relax. Simply bringing it up made him feel sick. It was like opening floodgates within his mind, and his brain was already unleashing tidal waves. "And… Well, people react to things differently. I'm not here to complain. But… After going through a bunch of shit in my own life, and after seeing things slowly tear Gilbert's life apart, too… I know how bad things can get. I know what pain is like, and I should know better than anyone how fast is can destroy. And really, Arthur? I know you're just acting like this as a defense. But I don't want to see you go through anything like that, no matter to what extent it is."

Arthur was quiet for a very long time, just studying Alfred from underneath choppy blonde hair. His face was entirely neutral now, and Alfred could see the gears trying to click around inside his head, as if trying to believe Alfred's words completely. Alfred absently rubbed at his arm during the silence, slowly breaking eye contact, and letting his gaze drop to a spot of dirt that had been tracked inside and now marked the floor.

"You barely know me," Arthur said again. He wiped his hands on his white apron, and Alfred lifted his head when he heard the faint thunk of scissors hitting the counter. Arthur had his hands on his hips now, giving Alfred his full attention. "Why would it matter to you if I'm going through something difficult or not?"

"I told you. Seeing someone, _anyone_, suffer is something I don't want to witness." Alfred answered slowly, as if it was the most simplistic thing in the world. "You think I want people to get so fucked up they turn out like me? No."

"You?" Arthur deadpanned, the puzzled look staying plastered on porcelain skin. "Compared to Gilbert, you seem like one of the most normal people I've met in a long damn time."

"Clearly you don't know me very well, either." Alfred shrugged, absently folding his arm across his chest, thick fingers massaging at his scar. "Don't let the outside fool you. Honestly, Gilbert is one of the best people I've ever met in my entire life. He's…really got his life in order, to put it lightly. I can promise you I'd be really damn lost without him."

Dead, too, probably.

Arthur seemed a bit uncomfortable. He had broken eye contact again and was shuffling his feet slightly as he stood there, obviously not knowing what to say in response. Alfred cleared his throat awkwardly and continued.

"Look, I know this is really weird and sudden, coming from some guy like me that you just met a few days ago," he said earnestly. "I'm not trying to pry, I swear. I'm just… I'm concerned, really. I may not know you very well or anything just yet, but you're a human being, and my friends like you. You're obviously important to them. And if there's something going on that I can help prevent, or fix, it's the least I could do to try to help out with it. Both as a person, and trying to help out a friend."

"We're friends?" Arthur asked quietly.

"Well, more like acquaintances, I guess," Alfred rambled, the nerves quickly chipping away at his speech patterns, just like usual. "But… God, this is gonna sound corny, but if you wanted to be friends, I wouldn't mind. I don't have a whole lot of friends, so…"

"…Yeah," Arthur nearly whispered. His hands clenched and his knuckles glowed a soft hue of white as they sat upon the countertop. "Neither do I, really. I understand."

Alfred mentally wondered if it was due to Arthur pushing away opportunities of friendship, but best not comment on that.

"Regardless, Alfred, as sudden as this was, I appreciate the concern," Arthur said simply. "I don't have a whole lot of people left in this world who care about me, so it's nice to know about it when someone does. I guess I owe you an apology for being such an ass to you, lately. Things just…haven't been too great around here."

"It's alright," Alfred replied. "Really, don't worry about it. Things happen. Trust me, I know."

"Heh. Your heart is plated with the same gold as Gilbert's," Arthur commented, shaking his head softly. "Guess it shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did when I found out you two were so close."

Alfred wasn't sure of how to respond to that. Really, he didn't view himself as anything special. He was just an average guy floating through life. The days and weeks and months were all one big melting pot. He could hardly tell them all apart. After he had gotten out of the service, he basically had no purpose left in his life anymore. The battle was over. He had lost so many friends, so many comrades, so many pieces of his family. He was unemployed and living off of his brother, and every single day brought a new battle against his own mind. He hated it. Who was he, and why was he even still here? He was just some washed up ghost drifting through time. He was not a hero; he was hardly even human. His heart barely managed to beat, let alone inside of cages of gold.

Gilbert, however… Gilbert fit that description. His best friend was incredible. His days in the army brought him success and ranks and his chest rightfully swelled with pride. He wanted to make his brother proud; they were all they had, Alfred knew. He spent nearly his whole life watching over his sibling, and after losing both parents, Gilbert took the responsibility of adulthood and parenthood onto his shoulders at the same time. Someone had to take care of his little brother, and he was the only person capable of the job.

And in the army, Alfred had plenty of chances to see that heart of gold. He could remember days and nights in cities much different than their own, in the thickness of sand and heat, and every now and again, local children would talk to them. Alfred would watch his friend's face light up. He'd chatter with those kids like they were his own. He'd share his rations with them. His heart thrummed with love for other human beings, especially those smaller than himself.

And during the attack. That was the ultimate shining moment that unfolded before Alfred's very eyes. Everything was happening fast, much too fast. Suddenly explosions blowing through his ears. Suddenly Gilbert's hands fisting into his vest as he shoved him backwards over the nearest barrier, not having the time to heave himself over entirely, the backlash of bombs easily tearing at his legs. Suddenly weight pressed down upon him as Gilbert shielded him, body to body, debris pouring over them, dust in their lungs.

His heart wasn't plated with gold. The whole damn thing was nothing but gold and hung inside a gold frame. He was selfless, almost _too _selfless. And even to this very day Gilbert held no ill feelings in his heart. Alfred felt plenty, sure. The guilt was the worst. Maybe if Gilbert hadn't taken the time to try to push him over first he wouldn't have gotten caught up in the blast. He wouldn't be disabled. But every time it came up, Gilbert just patted him on the arm or the leg or back or wherever he could reach and just laughed and said not to worry about it.

If anything, it only made him feel worse.

He didn't deserve someone this incredible in his life.

"Alfred?" Arthur's voice brought him out of his thoughts. Alfred twitched a bit, blinking rapidly, not having realized he had zoned out. "Are… Are you crying?"

He blinked again, momentarily confused at that inquiry, before he felt something moving against his skin. He raised a hand and dabbed at his cheek. Sure enough, clear liquid trickled slowly down a well-formed cheekbone.

When had he…?

"Oh," was all he could say. He awkwardly wiped his hand on the front of his shirt, finding himself unable to even look at Arthur now. Embarrassment suddenly pounded in his veins and he wanted nothing more than to vanish.

"Alfred… Are you alright?" Arthur pried further, leaning over the counter a little more. "Did I say something to upset you?"

"It wasn't you," Alfred said honestly. It wasn't Arthur's fault. He didn't know about the past. Arthur didn't know his triggers. And if anything, it wasn't Arthur's fault either that he was so messed up in the head these days. "Don't worry about it, okay? I just… I have some things to work out, I guess."

"Are you sure?" Arthur babbled, his eyes wide and suddenly very nervous. Alfred could see the look of guilt spreading across his face. Great.

"Arthur, really, don't worry about it. I'm…" he faltered for a second. Lying to Arthur was harder to do than lying to Gilbert. Why? Why was lying to his best friend easier than lying to a stranger? "I'm fine."

Arthur's pink lips parted, as if to speak. Alfred quickly cut him off.

"See, but this is what I'm talking about. You're not so mean and tough like you pretend to be." Alfred tucked his hands into his pockets absently. "A few tears run down my face and suddenly you're concerned about me."

"People don't like seeing other people cry, you idiot," Arthur replied, face flushing a warm shade of pink. He was stuttering a little, seeming suddenly embarrassed.

"Whatever you say." Alfred shrugged. One corner of his mouth moved again and for the first time in so very long, a second grin crossed his face that day. It may have been crooked and nothing close to perfect, but progress was progress. "Next thing I know you'll be trying to call me or something to ask how my day is going."

"Like I'd ever ask you for your number."

"Hey, no fair! You don't get to randomly flop back into a grump after you just showed me how concerned you can be about me."

"My shop, my rules." Even with those words, Arthur's mouth twitched into a smile of his own. "Then again, you're not really one to talk. You don't get to try to suddenly act like a tough guy again after you almost just started bawling in the middle of my store."

"I was not 'almost bawling'!" Alfred exclaimed defensively, now starting to blush a deep shade of red.

"You were already crying," Arthur teased. He shrugged though and it was then Alfred got to see that beautiful smile cross his face that he had witnessed the first day he met Arthur. His insides already felt like mush. "But… Well, twisted as it sounds, I'm glad I got to see you shed a few tears. I don't know. So far you've seemed so serious and quiet to me. I haven't heard a whole lot about you from the guys, but I've heard you're a pretty…stoic kind of man. Seeing you do something other than frowning is a bit refreshing. Now, if we managed to pry a true blue smile out of you…that'd be great. Someday, maybe."

Alfred blinked at that for a moment before his cheeks burned bright red. Arthur, after witnessing his embarrassment, let out a laugh that made Alfred's heart swell painfully in his chest. Beautiful. He tried to ignore the butterflies bursting to life in his stomach and how his face was on fire. He opened his mouth to object, when the sudden chiming of the bell on the main door made him pause.

Arthur's smile instantly dissolved as he stole a glance at the door, peeking around Alfred to do so.

"Oh… Good morning, Ivan."

Alfred turned around slightly on his heel. The man had just entered the store and was walking up behind him. His size the other day had not been an illusion either; he was still just as big up close as he was before. Alfred watched the man's eyes narrow as he took in Alfred's appearance at the counter.

"Good morning."

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><p>Chapter 6: End<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This took longer than expected, and I apologize. Things have been quite bad lately. I won't go into details, but, just... I've been struggling a lot, with a lot of things. I'm trying. For now that's the best I can do. I'm hoping the next update will come sooner. Regardless, I hope you enjoy. Again, I apologize for making you all wait so long.

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><p>A thick silence had settled into the room. Ivan approached the counter slowly, his steps casual and so very loud. Alfred was not sure if it was from his build or due to the heavy boots on his feet.<p>

Ivan approached the counter where he and Arthur were currently standing, and Alfred could have sworn he heard Arthur inhale sharply in response. Ivan drew up beside him, painfully close.

As if ignoring Alfred's existence entirely, Ivan casually leaned against the countertop with one large arm that was hidden underneath a jacket.

"I need to talk to you," Ivan said lowly. "_Alone."_

"I…" Arthur visibly swallowed, suddenly looking violently uncomfortable. "I'm with a guest right now…"

"I can wait," Ivan pushed, eyes dark and his thin lips pressed into a tight line.

"Actually," Alfred interjected coolly, barely even fluttering an eyelash as both heads swiveled in his direction. "I was about to help Arthur get something from the back room. Right, Arthur?"

For a brief moment the man was quiet, obviously puzzled. Alfred could only hope he thought over what he was saying before he spoke. Alfred simply stared back at him in silence, his body going slightly rigid with tension. The light bulb in Arthur's head seemed to suddenly spark to life, and the glow from it lit up his eyes.

"Right," he said, drawing backwards a few steps from the edge of the counter.

"I can get it for you," Ivan offered, but Alfred was already walking behind the counter and in the direction of the back room.

"It's alright," Arthur said as he let Alfred draw back the curtain and slip into the room first. Arthur held the curtain in one hand, pausing in his footsteps to glance back at the man over his shoulder. "We've got it under control. Give me a second, okay?"

Before Ivan had a chance to speak, Arthur nearly sprinted into the storage room.

He released the curtain, letting it softly flap shut behind him. Alfred, who had leaned himself against a shelf, proceeded to let the weight settle back into his legs as he stood up properly, closing the distance between him and Arthur.

"Why does he keep coming here?" Alfred asked, his voice a strained whisper. He knew speaking too loudly would allow Ivan to hear their conversation, and he wanted to avoid that as much as possible.

Arthur wouldn't look him in the eye now. "I can't tell you."

"Arthur," Alfred pressed, drawing much closer to the smaller man now. Arthur shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, keeping his gaze firmly locked onto the floor. "There's obviously something going on here. You're not happy, and for whatever reason, this guy keeps coming into your job and pestering you. And it scares you. I can tell."

Arthur's mouth remained closed, though his shoulders proceeded to tense tightly beneath his button-up shirt.

"I can help you," Alfred continued. "But I can't do anything until I know what's going on here."

"Not here," Arthur finally choked out between slightly trembling lips. His voice was suddenly thick with emotion, and for a moment, Alfred was sure he was going to cry. His words came out in a shaking whisper. "The park. Meet me at the park on First at five-thirty."

Alfred had no idea where that was, but he found himself nodding along regardless. He could ask Gilbert for directions later. He couldn't lose this chance.

Arthur went stumbling back a few paces, and his palms, shaking, came up to his face to wipe at it. For a second he simply covered his eyes, as if trying to regain what composure he had before it frayed away. Finally, he exhaled slowly, starting to edge closer to the doorway. He seemed to finally have regained control over himself.

"Grab that box on the top shelf," Arthur instructed, obviously trying to keep up their lie. He still appeared anxious, however, as he gripped the curtain in one hand, and proceeded to vanish back into the shop.

Now alone, Alfred turned his attention to the shelf behind him. True to Arthur's word, there was a simplistic cardboard box perched on the top shelf. After a moment of struggling, he wondered if Arthur had a stepladder hiding somewhere in the storage room. He wasn't much taller than Arthur was, and he had a hard time achieving enough height to get a proper grip around the container. After a moment of hoisting himself onto the tips of his toes, he managed to grab the box before he slid it fluidly toward himself, making a mental prayer for it to be light enough so that his arm wouldn't give out on him.

He let out a silent breath of relief when he found it to be extremely light. It was taped shut so he wasn't sure as to what was inside, but it didn't really matter. With the box hoisted into his arms he headed back into the shop, chunks of Arthur and Ivan's conversation starting to reach his ears.

"I didn't know," Arthur spoke quietly. "I'm trying, I really am, but there's only so much I can do."

Alfred saw him steal a glance in his direction from the corner of his eye. He then proceeded to set the box onto the counter, able to feel Ivan's gaze nearly burning a hole straight through him. At that, Arthur finally turned to look at him properly.

"Thank you," he said, and while his voice had stopped sounding so tense, Alfred could see a glimmer of uneasiness twinkling in his eyes. "I actually have a few things I need to get done…"

Alfred knew he was referring to whatever business Ivan wanted to talk about. And judging by those words combined with that look in his eyes, Arthur was practically desperate for him to leave.

"…Right," Alfred replied after a brief pause. He then proceeded to head out from behind the counter, and therefore a bit closer to the front door. He could feel Ivan watching him, as if studying his every move, analyzing him. Alfred didn't give him the satisfaction of looking back. He just gave Arthur a small wave with his right hand. "I'll see you later."

The bell chimed over his head as he opened the door, which he let close behind him as he set foot onto the sidewalk. He stole a brief glance into the shop window to see Ivan and Arthur now talking in an extremely animated fashion, expressions morphing, and he didn't like it.

Simply leaving left a bad feeling in his stomach, but if that was what Arthur wanted, then for now, it was best to listen. After all, he was making progress. It was best not to ruin his chance.

He fished out his phone from one pocket, scrolling through his list of contacts until he found Gilbert's number. He sent the man a quick text before he crammed his phone back down into his pocket, resuming his journey back to the house. His head was a bit too distracted for him to run, though, so he simply settled for walking.

'_Hey. Any chance you know of a park on First?'_

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><p>Honestly, he was glad Arthur picked five-thirty for a time and not anything later. Apparently sunset was around six, which he could already detect from the sky slowly starting to change colors. The air had grown chillier since that morning, although the thin layer of clouds starting to roll into the area was aiding in trapping in a bit of heat. After checking his watch to see the time, Alfred crammed his hands down into his pockets and absently stared up at the sky as he walked. The faint twinge of oranges and pinks looked stunning out here, framed by nothing but trees.<p>

Gilbert, to his left, suddenly shot him a smile as he noticed Alfred staring up at the sky. "Beautiful, right?"

Alfred hummed softly in agreement. He had asked Gilbert to come along, mainly for directions. He still didn't know his way around too well and he didn't want to risk getting lost, especially with it being on the verge of getting dark. Gilbert had promised to leave Alfred and Arthur in peace, and then had proceeded to practically drag Ludwig out of the house to come with them. He had said something about the two of them spending some time together while they waited on Alfred.

Honestly, Alfred felt a bit torn about it. He wondered if Ludwig ever got a single moment of peace other than when he was at work. He and Gilbert lived together, after all. But at the same time, he knew Gilbert had issues when it came to being alone. He thrived on being around other people, and Alfred had noticed a bit of a trend since they got out of the service. Gilbert was okay when he was around others. It was when he was alone that all the bad things usually washed into his brain and he slowly crumbled into someone that reminded Alfred too much of himself.

But, well, as long as they could work it out…

"Here we are," Gilbert announced a few minutes later, face lighting up in an instant. He glanced over at Alfred. "Text me or something when you're done, okay?"

Alfred nodded for a second, lingering near the entrance as he watched the two wander off in the direction of the lake that was to their right. With that, he wandered off in the opposite direction. He could see some picnic tables over that way, so maybe Arthur had chosen to sit down somewhere over there.

To his surprise, however, when he approached, he didn't find Arthur at a table at all. Instead, at the metal swing set right behind the picnic area, he found Arthur sitting in one of the seats there, just looking up at the sky. Alfred quietly approached him, wobbling a little from the sand that shifted unevenly underneath his feet. Arthur must have noticed him, for he tore his eyes away from the heavens and looked in his direction.

"You're early," Arthur said as he checked his watch.

"Not really. Ten minutes is early, five minutes is on time, and on time is late." Alfred shrugged a bit as he finally drew close enough. After a moment of mental debating he decided to say forget it, and slowly planted himself down into one of the chain-suspended seats beside Arthur. It felt weird, definitely. He hadn't been on a swing set since he was a kid.

Arthur didn't say anything. Alfred didn't either, just sitting there quietly as he studied the man's face in the slowly approaching twilight. He seemed torn, like he was trying to pick what words to let drip from his lips. Finally, he sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, and Alfred looked at him in puzzlement, but Arthur kept his eyes firmly averted. "About this morning, I mean. I didn't know he was going to stop by like that…"

"You don't have to apologize," Alfred replied honestly, letting his hands rest on the chains holding him off the ground. He stirred at the sand with a tip of one shoe. "Does he stop by a lot?"

"The times are completely random, and he used to pop up every now and again. These days, yes, it's…quite frequent. I just wasn't expecting him today, though I guess I should have, considering he hasn't stopped by in a couple of days…"

"What exactly does he want from you?" Alfred inquired, getting straight the point. He watched Arthur's shoulders scrunch up under the thin jacket he was wearing, and those eyes rolled back up at the sky, as if searching for answers in the clouds.

"First, let me ask you something. It will help me know if you're going to truly understand what I'm going to wind up telling you." Arthur sighed gently. His face, reflected by shadows from the slowly setting sun, seemed so, so tired. "Has there ever been anything in your life that you've been so desperate about that you would do anything for it?"

"Of course," Alfred answered, though his voice came out much weaker than he intended. "I was in the damn army, Arthur. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Now Arthur finally looked at him. The twinkle of sadness in his eyes made Alfred's gut tighten. "Does the sky look like this where you were stationed?"

"Yeah. A lot… Same old sun, same old sky, same old colors. But the earth around you was a lot different, you know? You didn't have trees everywhere or this much dirt. There was a lot of sand, usually." He really didn't want to talk about this. What was Arthur getting at, here? "But… Well, I guess that's what made it feel different. It was the same sunset, but it felt like you weren't even on the same planet sometimes."

"When it felt weird, did it make you want to stop watching the sun come up or go down?"

"Not really. It was one of the few things that made you remember you were still human." Alfred's gaze fell. "That and, well, I didn't have much of a choice. Gilbert would always drag me outside to watch whenever we got the chance."

"I see… I can understand. My brother loved sunsets." Alfred glanced up now, and Arthur stared him dead in the eye. "Did they mention that to you? My brother?"

"Honestly? Gilbert slipped up and mentioned you had one, but backpedaled the second I said something." Alfred noticed how anxious Arthur suddenly seemed. He knew he needed to pick his words carefully, but he didn't even know where the landmine was. It was easier said than done. And yet, as soon as he noticed something, he didn't bother to be careful anymore. "Loved?"

"Loved. With a 'D' on the end, yes." Arthur's hands suddenly gripped the chains so tight his knuckles turned white. "My brother died a year ago."

_Shit. _Alfred felt his stomach suddenly grow icy, his body numbing. He spoke softly, as if his very voice being too loud was going to burst the dam. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Arthur mumbled. "Do you have any siblings, Alfred?"

"Just the one I told you about earlier that can never remember to water his plants. My brother, Matthew." Alfred looked over at him. "Was he older or younger?"

"Older," Arthur said quietly, all of a sudden sounding so grossly heartbroken. He absently rubbed at his nose. "I…"

He seemed to be having problems speaking now, as if his emotions were slowly closing up his throat. Alfred vaguely wondered if that was what he sounded like when he started falling into his attacks.

"Does Ivan have something to do with your brother?" Alfred slowly pried. He could tell Arthur was struggling to explain on his own; maybe it was best if he started yanking out answers through inquiries.

Either way, it must have been important. Why else would Arthur be telling him all of this otherwise?

The Adam's apple in Arthur's throat shifted as he swallowed harshly. He wouldn't meet Alfred's gaze, and Alfred could see how his eyes were starting to water.

"My brother was really sick before he died. He wound up living in the hospital, down where Antonio works, for what felt like an eternity… Months, literally, months and months and months… Obviously, he didn't make it out, but…" Arthur suddenly pinched the bridge of his nose, his breath shaking as he struggled not to cry. "Fuck. I just… I didn't have a lot of money. I never did, I still don't…"

Alfred had a feeling that he might know where this was going. "Did you borrow money from Ivan?"

"I didn't have a choice," Arthur ground out past teeth he was previously gritting. A few tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn't even bother to wipe them away. "He was my family. My brother. I loved him. For God's sake, I was desperate, I would've done anything. And I did all I could but it still wasn't good enough. He still died, and now I'm fucking stuck."

There were still tons of details about this story that he didn't quite understand or even know about yet, but he didn't think he was going to be able to get all those wonders answered today. He spoke softly, contrasting Arthur's suddenly loud voice. "How much money did you borrow from him?"

"Thousands," Arthur spat, his words dripping with anger and grief. He suddenly kicked roughly at the sand underneath their feet, sending it rolling forward in a small cloud. "I didn't know what else to do. I had no other options left."

"Arthur…" Alfred started softly, but the man just continued as if he hadn't heard a single word Alfred was trying to say.

"I just… I…" Arthur's voice suddenly cracked, and he bowed his head, his shoulders tightening with newfound tension. He kicked at the sand again, letting out a strangled cry. "God _damn _it, I'm so fucking stupid!"

The dam crumbled.

Before Alfred even had a chance to truly register what was happening, Arthur suddenly broke down into heavy sobs. His head sagged forward and his eyes had screwed shut tightly as anger and sadness and pain rolled down his cheeks in hot rivers. His shoulders shook violently. Hiccups spilled from his mouth between his sobs, his lungs struggling as he gasped and choked.

And simply sitting there sobbing his heart out on a swing, Arthur looked pathetically tiny.

Alfred wasn't sure of what to say for a long moment. He was already bad with talking about his own feelings. Talking about emotions with someone else was even harder sometimes.

"I don't think you're stupid," Alfred said. He may not have been very loud, but he knew Arthur heard him, judging by how his head slightly shifted toward the sound of his voice, as if trying to get a better grip of what he was saying. "Not anywhere close."

It was starting to get dark now. The sun was starting to dip behind the horizon of trees. The sky had turned a soft pink, painted with streaks of oranges, and the bright blue had dimmed. He could see the foggy wisps of clouds slowly dragging through the heavens.

Alfred found himself looking up again, not able to meet Arthur's eyes.

"You said it yourself. You did what you had to do. Whether or not it was the best decision, I do not know that, but… You did all you could. You tried your hardest."

Arthur absently wiped his nose and let out a pathetic hiccup. "It was probably a stupid choice. The doctors told me he had a slim chance of survival, and yet, I just… I kept feeding these dreams I had that he'd wind up okay."

"What you had was hope," Alfred said, now turning his gaze onto the smaller man at his side. Arthur was staring back at him, his face swollen and eyes red and his lips puffy from biting down on them. "Hope is nothing close to stupidity, Arthur."

"How do you figure?" Arthur shot back, his voice nearly cutting into Alfred's skin with the sudden acidity.

Alfred suddenly stood up from the swing. He took a few paces forward, tucking his hands into his pockets as he stared up at the heavens, as if thinking deeply for a moment.

"Because it's something you believe in." Alfred's voice was louder, clearer now. "You obviously loved your brother a lot. I never met him, and, hell, I just met you, but I can tell you guys were close. He was your family. Your friend, too, right? Of course you would have hope that he would be okay. Why would you want to lose someone you love so much? And if hope keeps your head clear long enough to function, if it gives you something to believe in, to look forward to, then how is it stupid? If it keeps you sane, then how is it stupid? If wanting your brother to live, if believing that he'd be okay, meant spending tons of money on him just to try to let him see another day, then god, Arthur, it's not stupid. It just makes you human."

He heard Arthur sniffle from behind him. The swing creaked. A light wind rustled a slew of nearby leaves.

For the first time in what felt like years, his body didn't feel numb. For once his heart thrummed in his ribcage. For a moment he could finally feel again. For a moment he could talk again without stumbling. The air felt crisp and sharp as it filled his lungs, and for a brief moment he felt like he was choking.

"Alfred…" Arthur's voice was small. Timid. The swing creaked again. "When you were away, wherever you were… Things like what you just said to me…did you think about that a lot?"

"I used to," Alfred said, his voice softer, but clear. "I used to have a lot of hope. It kept you sane. At first it would be big things, you know… But eventually, it boiled down to the tiniest of things. At some point we just hoped we would be able to survive long enough to come home."

"And now?" Arthur asked him. Alfred could feel eyes boring into his back.

"Not so much," Alfred nearly whispered. The numbness was coming back much too quickly. He felt suddenly tired. "There's a few things…my friends, mainly. I don't have many of them, but I'd probably give anything to see them happy. Gilbert, especially. He's already been through so much that if he went through anything else, I…"

"What about yourself?" Arthur said softly. A hand suddenly brushed against his bicep, and Alfred jumped for a second, eyes snapping away from the sky to look at Arthur, who had come to stand beside him. "You've been through a lot too, haven't you? Don't you have any hope for your own life?"

_No. _Alfred thought instantly. And really, he didn't. Had he been through a lot? Probably so, yes. But did he have hope left for himself? Not at all. Once upon a time he had simply wanted to be okay, eventually. But even that… That all seemed too far out of reach now. He was too fucked up to fix now.

"How did we get on the topic of me, here?" Alfred mumbled, obviously trying to dodge the question. "We came here to talk about you."

"Doesn't matter how we started talking about you," Arthur said, though his hand slowly lowered itself from Alfred's arm. "You have demons of your own. I know you do. And maybe you don't want to tell me just yet, but maybe, eventually, you'll trust me enough to let me know what is bothering you so badly."

Alfred stared at him for a second, mouth opening, before he closed it again. He had nothing to say to that. The world around them had been plunged into darkness. A nearby streetlamp flickered to life. For a moment the two of them were entirely silent, just listening to the wind rustle the leaves on the trees.

"Did you have some sort of deal set up with Ivan about this situation?" Alfred finally asked, needing a few more pieces to the puzzle before he could solve it.

Arthur must have predicted this, because he merely produced a gentle sigh. "I did at first…"

"At first?" Alfred echoed, an eyebrow arching in confusion.

"Yes," Arthur said as he slowly planted himself down onto the swing again, obviously tired of standing. Alfred slowly followed him. "At first, I had enough money I could scrape together to make ends meet for doctor's appointments and such. Then when he got sicker and sicker I couldn't keep up. And I didn't have very many options. Francis doesn't have a whole lot of money either. Antonio and I are on a bit of a rocky slope so I didn't…want to ask him for such a favor. Gilbert was leaving. I had limited choices.

"When things first started getting bad, I told the others, including Ivan. So when my brother's health started plummeting, I eventually just sucked up my pride to ask Ivan for help. I had to grow closer to him to make it work. And when my brother died, we initially had a system going where I would pay him back a certain amount of money per month."

"You couldn't keep up, could you?" Alfred murmured.

Arthur scrubbed at his eyes and nodded. "I started to run out of money. A lot of funds got sucked up, with the funeral and the business failing for a while, and… I fell behind. And I fell behind fast. I already knew with what I was paying him per month, it was going to take me forever to pay him back completely, if I ever could.

"So now… I haven't paid him in a while. A long while. I haven't been able to afford it. And I know he isn't happy about it, because he's starting to grow angry with me. He's starting to intrude more and more to ask about money. And I tried to tell him I'm trying my best, that there's only so much I can do, but he won't listen to me. I know he has siblings and other family to try to help out, but, god, I can't do anything else right now. I can't."

"Do you have any family you could talk to about this? To maybe help you?" Alfred asked, only to have Arthur shake his head in response.

"No. My whole family is pretty much broke when it comes to funds."

"I can see if there's anything I can do to help you," Alfred said. "I'll just need time."

Arthur looked at him like he was the dumbest man alive. "What are you even talking about? I don't want to drag you into this."

"Yeah, well, maybe I want to help you. And honestly, Arthur, do you really have much of a choice?" Alfred asked, looking over at the man in the darkness, his face illuminated by a nearby streetlight. "You basically said it yourself that you're backed into a corner, here. You need help."

Arthur bit down on a swollen lower lip. "I… I just don't know if that's the best idea. Ivan already dislikes you quite a lot. Getting involved like this is only going t—"

"For what?" Alfred interrupted, scowling. "I haven't done a single thing to him."

"You stood up to him. That's something I haven't been able to properly do, and it's something that no one else really does either," Arthur sighed. "Ivan likes to be in control, and I'm pretty sure he can tell you don't play by those rules. I think he's afraid you're trying to help me wiggle out of the whole money situation."

"Of course I don't play by those rules. Exercising total, complete control over someone isn't the answer," Alfred practically snorted out. "I was in the army. I'm not afraid of him. I've had drill sergeants bigger than him. So don't worry about it. I'll see what I can do, though it might take me a while."

"Why are you helping me?" Arthur asked at last, his face softening with sadness and confusion all at once. "I… I haven't exactly been the nicest guy towards you, especially lately. And even now, you still barely know me—"

"I know enough for now," Alfred interjected, waving a hand slightly. "And I know you're not really an asshole or anything like that. It's a front, I know it is. We talked about this before, right? You're obviously a lot nicer of a man than you pretend to be. So, honestly? Yeah, you're worth the trouble."

Arthur blinked at him for a moment. And then, finally, his face, puffy from crying, melted away into a warm smile that instantly made Alfred's insides turn to pure mush.

"You're a good man, Alfred."

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><p>Chapter 7: End<p>

A/N: Casually kills off a character before you even get to meet him, nbd.


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